Dark Messiah
by The Urban Spaceman
Summary: James Shepard is a convicted criminal, condemned to live out the remainder of his life on the prison ship Purgatory. Six years after his incarceration, the Alliance military makes him an attractive offer; they'll buy his freedom if he agrees to take his dead twin's place as commander of the Normandy and bring a rogue turian Spectre to justice.
1. Fallen Hero

Dark Messiah

_1. Fallen Hero_

The Normandy's medbay was silent, the air heavy, reverent, as if the universe understood the loss it had suffered and was holding its breath in mourning. No matter how hard he tried, Captain David Anderson just couldn't pull his gaze away from the pale, still face of John Shepard. It was bad enough that humanity had lost one of its greatest heroes; Anderson had also lost one of his closest friends.

He heard the door open, heard two pairs of footsteps approach, but still couldn't bring himself to look away. _Shepard was dead_. The young man Anderson had trained and tutored was lying cold and lifeless on the bed. Never again would that face be creased up into a smile. Never would Shepard's throaty laugh fill the air, inviting others to join in his merriment. Never more would he call out orders to his crew, confident despite his relative youth and inexperience with ship command. As Anderson sat there, staring into the face of death, a single thought fluttered across his mind.

_It should have been me_.

"It happened in the early hours of the morning." Udina's voice broke the silence, his tone carrying only the minimum amount of respect. Anderson wanted to punch him for it, but the thought of John's rebuking expression held him back. Shepard wouldn't want his old friend to lose his command for the sake of physical gratification.

"How many people know?" Hackett sounded old, and tired. Anderson finally found a reason to move. He stood and turned, offering his senior officer a salute. But Hackett didn't see it; his eyes, too, were drawn to Shepard's face. Had he been hoping this was all a joke? That there had been a mis-communication? That Shepard would jump up from the bed and shout, "_psych!_"

"The three of us, and the crew of the Normandy," said Udina.

"What went wrong out there, Captain?"

Anderson cleared his throat. Even in the midst of his grief, he'd been preparing for this. One couldn't lose humanity's newest Spectre barely a week into his first mission and expect there to be no questions.

"Shepard and his team were investigating reports of geth activity on Noveria," he said by rote, the speech already etched into his mind. He spoke with the professional detachment all good soldiers learnt to foster in order to get them through difficult times. "From the mission report I've read, it looks like the corrupt Noverian administrator was preventing Shepard from taking his team to a distant research facility, so Shepard was trying to find some dirt on the administrator, give Noveria's internal security personnel a chance to bring him down and re-open Shepard's investigation. There was a firefight—"

"Of course," said Udina, in a catty tone of voice.

Anderson pulled his right hand into a fist, but focused on Hackett's age-lined face and continued his report.

"A security guard working for the corrupt administrator found a way behind Shepard's team and shot the Commander in the back of the head. His team were forced to withdraw, and only just managed to get him out without further casualties. Doctor Chakwas did her best, but his injuries were too severe. He was comatose for the entire journey back to the Citadel, and passed away several hours ago as a result of his injuries."

Hackett stepped forward, approaching the bed where Shepard lay cold and dead. For several moment he did nothing but watch, and when his hand finally rose it was to pull the white blanket shrouding Shepard up over his pale lifeless face. Anderson felt it like a hammer-blow to the heart. Shepard wasn't just dead; he was gone. Gone forever and never, ever coming back.

"You've… ah… you've had time to review my proposal, Admiral Hackett?" asked Udina. The ambassador suddenly looked a lot more shifty than usual.

"I have."

"And have you come to a decision?"

"What proposal is this?" asked Anderson.

"Humanity still needs a Spectre, Captain."

Anderson shook his head. "The Council will never agree to another Spectre. Shepard was a special case; they gave him the title as a means of satisfying us and of hunting down Saren without committing resources of their own. If they instate another human Spectre, there will be outrage."

"I'm not suggesting another Spectre."

"Then what?" Political bullshit double-speak; Udina was a master of it.

"Whilst reviewing Shepard's file prior to his Spectre candidacy, I read that he had a brother. A twin brother."

Immediately, Anderson saw where this was going. He felt the frown creep across his face as he stepped up to Udina, confronting the man in his own personal space. To his credit, Udina didn't back down. Bravery, or stupidity?

"James Shepard is a mentally unstable murderer. If you try and bring him into the Spectres you will be committing political suicide. I can't believe you're even suggesting it!"

"I'm not suggesting we throw him a parade and march him down the Presidium to a fanfare of trumpets," Udina shot back. "But the two men are identical twins. How hard could it be to pass off one as the other?"

"I don't think you understand how dangerous this man is."

"Oh, I understand perfectly," said Udina. "I've read the long list of crimes which resulted in his incarceration. But he's been locked away for six years. He'd be a fool to pass over the offer of a second chance. By carefully controlling him—"

"I don't 'control' a man like James Shepard," Anderson interrupted. Mad. The ambassador was completely mad. "You muzzle him like a rabid dog and put him somewhere where he can't infect others with his madness."

"You sound like you know him well," Hackett said, the first words he'd spoken during the entire exchange.

Anderson sighed, nodded. "I met the Shepard brothers when they were fresh out of the academy, and it was immediately obvious that physical appearance was the only thing they shared. John was a model soldier; honest, loyal, hard-working. James, on the other hand, was a rebel. He came out of basic training with a dozen disciplinary actions already on his record. For James, rules existed for one purpose; to be pushed to their breaking point."

"Come now, Anderson," said Udina. "John Shepard was no choir-boy. He broke several rules during his three day stay on the Citadel, prior to being given command of the Normandy."

"You know as well as I do that those situations were largely outside of his control!" Anderson felt his blood heating, fought for calm. Only a cretin like Udina would speak ill of the dead with the body lying just paces away. "James Shepard not only embraces trouble, he goes actively looking for it. I guarantee, if you put James in a position of authority, you'll be lucky if you live to regret it."

"You seem to be under the impression that your opinion actually counts for anything, Captain. It is not your decision to—"

"Gentleman." Hackett's voice, firm and commanding, halted Udina in his tracks. Anderson turned to face his superior. The Admiral had finished paying his respects to Shepard, and his eyes were once more harsh and business-like. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree with Captain Anderson. By all accounts, James Shepard is exactly where he belongs. But these aren't normal circumstances. There's an old axiom which I believe applies to this situation; desperate times call for desperate measures. If these aren't desperate times, then I don't know what qualifies."

"But sir, to give a criminal his freedom, and a position of authority, simply because he has the same appearance as another man… it undermines the entire justice system. Besides, if anybody's due for promotion, it's Alenko."

"Unfortunately, Lieutenant Alenko looks nothing like the late Commander Shepard," said Udina. "Besides, nobody's suggesting a promotion. We need James Shepard as a figurehead. Nothing more, nothing less. We'll be the ones giving the orders, and as far as the rest of the galaxy's concerned, Shepard's still a hero."

"This is a colossally bad idea," Anderson said, though he knew his warning fell on deaf ears. The decision had been made even before Hackett had arrived at the Citadel. All Anderson could do now was try to minimise the damage, and hope that this decision wasn't a death-sentence for humanity.

o - o - o - o - o

"Hey L.T., mind if I join you?"

Kaidan looked up from his seat at the mess hall table. Williams was hovering beside him, a tray of food clasped in her hands. He wanted to tell her to go away, to leave him alone, to eat at one of the other tables, but the memory of Shepard held him back. Shepard had always made time for his crew. Never turned anybody away, even when he wanted to be alone. Kaidan had only known the man for two weeks, but the two had become such firm friends and so quickly that Shepard felt more like a brother than a commanding officer.

"Sure. Pull up a seat," he said.

"Thanks." She slipped onto the chair opposite him and began tucking into her bacon and eggs. Kaidan's own food was untouched and half-cold on his plate, his appetite complete non-existent.

"Heard you've got a meeting with the-powers-that-be after lunch," said Williams. She cast him a sideways glance, and Kaidan snorted. She was terrible at subtlety. "Any idea what it's about?"

"None."

The request had come directly from Admiral Hackett; he'd arrived a little over an hour ago, to view the body.

Kaidan mentally kicked himself. _The body._ Was that how he thought of Shepard, now? As some inanimate _thing_? A shell no more real or alive than those husks he'd fought on Eden Prime? Shepard was gone, yes, but his memory lived on for as long as even one person remembered him as he was; vibrant, courageous, selfless…

"L.T.? Earth to L.T., come in Lieutenant Alenko!"

He blinked, realised Williams was waving her fork, still holding a piece of bacon, in his face. Judging by her expression she'd asked him a question which he'd completely failed to hear and was now waiting for an answer.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said word amongst the crew is that Hackett's going to promote you to the Normandy's new captain."

Him? Captain? The idea was absurd. Foolish. How could he possibly fill the John Shepard-sized hole that had been left? Shaking his head, he said, "Doubtful. If anything, they're more likely to give command back to Anderson. He has the knowledge and experience."

"So how come TPTB have asked for a meeting with _you_."

Kaidan shifted on his chair, his stomach curdling uneasily. A command posting was something he'd dreamt of… but he knew, in his heart, that he wasn't ready. He didn't possess Shepard's flair for creative thinking. He needed more experience before he would feel comfortable commanding men. Especially if it meant ordering them to die.

"Excuse me, Chief. I better get going to that meeting."

He didn't wait for her to offer a salute or even a goodbye, merely abandoned his food and strode out of the mess hall as fast as his feet would carry him. In fact, his feet very nearly carried him straight into Wrex; the krogan didn't even bat an eyelid as Kaidan stepped back. Wrex had signed up at Shepard's urging, and seemed to genuinely respect the commander. What would he do, now that Shepard was dead? Would he stick around for revenge against Saren, or would he jump ship as soon as the lock-down was lifted?

"Alenko," Wrex greeted him. Bringing both hands in front of him, he cracked his knuckles, the sound grating down Kaidan's spine. "On Tuchanka, when someone shoots your friend in the head, you show him how you feel by shooting three of _his_ friends in the head. And then shooting him, too. All this sitting around is making me edgy. When are we gonna head back to Noveria? There's an ERCS guard's head with my rifle's name on it."

"I'm sure we'll be leaving soon," he assured the towering alien. "I've got a meeting with Captain Anderson and Admiral Hackett; chances are they'll be giving us new orders."

"Good. 'Cos if _I__'m_ feeling edgy, the rest of the crew's gotta be feeling it too. And an edgy crew makes mistakes."

"I'll let you know as soon as I hear something. Excuse me, but I don't want to be late for my meeting."

He edged around the krogan and jogged up the stairs to the CIC. There, Pressly was keeping an eye on things, ensuring nobody tried to break the communications black-out, and generally making himself available for any of the crew who needed to talk. The old man's face was dour; doubtless he hadn't expected to lose a CO so soon into their first mission.

When Kaidan reached the comm room, he pressed the door chime and was admitted immediately. Captain Anderson and Admiral Hackett, straight-backed and business-like in their uniforms, were seated on either side of Ambassador Udina. So, this was what it meant, to feel like 'a rabbit in the headlights.'

"Sirs," said Kaidan, saluting and fixing his eyes on a position on the far wall.

"At ease, Lieutenant," said Hackett. He waited for Kaidan to settle himself into a more comfortable stance, then launched straight into the reason for the meeting. "As you're aware, the Normandy is now without a commanding officer."

"Yes, sir." _Way to state the blatantly obvious, sir,_ he thought bitterly.

"We have a plan to allow the Normandy to continue with its original mission, but your assistance will be vital. I could order you to go along with our plan, but to be perfectly honest, it doesn't sit right with me." Kaidan tried not to fidget, but Hackett sounded so unsure that it was difficult not to feel his unease. "In order for our plan to work, there will have to be some amount of deception employed."

"If you don't mind me asking, sir," he spoke up, "who will we be deceiving?"

"Everyone," said Udina. "The Alliance. The Council. Humanity. The entire galaxy."

"I… I don't understand, Ambassador."

"It's like this," said Anderson, in a no-nonsense tone, "Commander Shepard has an identical twin brother. His name's James Shepard, and he served in the military for a while. Since he and John share the same DNA, we can bring him in without anybody being any the wiser."

"But… the Citadel's scanners…"

"Citadel ID scanners are DNA-based," said Udina. "And only a few places on Earth still use finger-printing technology. But we'll have the print sets swapped to allow James access to anything he needs."

"Where do I fit into these plans?" he asked. This sounded like madness. These three men were some of the most respected humans in the galaxy. To hear them suggesting such duplicity, such dishonesty… he was certain John wouldn't have approved.

"That's where things start to get a little complicated," said Hackett. "You see, James Shepard is currently serving a life sentence. To have that sentence commuted, we're going to have to pay a large fee to free him. And even when he's free, he might not want to play ball. He won't like being under the watchful eye of the military, and he's likely to try to escape. We need a capable man to police him; to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid or controversial, and to make sure he stays put. In short, we need _you_, Lieutenant."

"There is also the matter of command decisions," Udina said before Kaidan could even open his mouth to speak. "Of course, Captain Anderson will be prompting James Shepard along the correct course, to ensure he finds Saren and deals with him appropriately, but the Captain can't be seen to be ordering humanity's newest Spectre around; it will appear to the Council that Shepard is still an Alliance puppet, and will undermine his authority on missions. The Captain can relay orders to you, and you can ensure they are carried out."

"With all due respect, Ambassador," Kaidan said before any more curve balls could be thrown his way, "but that won't work in reality. When you're on a mission, you have to be able to make snap decisions. You can't be waiting on a superior officer who might be lightyears away and only contactable through a comm-buoy, to authorise every decision you make. Without autonomy, our mission is sure to fail."

"We're not suggesting that Captain Anderson dictate the minutiae of every single ground-mission," Admiral Hackett clarified. "He'll give advice and orders about the overall progression during your search for Saren, but the particulars will be left to you."

Kaidan found himself dumb-struck. The overwhelming weight of the situation must have showed on his face, because Anderson stood up and approached him, placing a calloused hand on his shoulder. Yet more weight that Kaidan didn't need to bear.

"We can't trust James Shepard to make those decisions," Anderson said. "I'll not lie to you; the man's a danger and a potential liability. But we need his face. We need people to see humanity's first Spectre. We need him to do interviews and photo ops and we need to show the rest of the galaxy that human Spectres can last for longer than one goddamn week. I know this is a lot to put on you, Alenko, and I know you have problems of your own… we'll do everything we can to help. But when it comes down to it, we need you for two reasons. Not only are you one of the few with the strength and ability to keep James Shepard under control, but you're also one of the few who'll be able to stop him if he goes over the edge."

"Plus, the crew of the Normandy respects you," said Udina. "If you and Pressly throw your support behind James, the rest will follow."

_We__'re not sheep_, Kaidan thought. _The crew have their own minds. _

"It's your choice, Kaidan," said Anderson. "You know I wouldn't be asking you to do this unless I thought it was important, and although we could order you to go along with this plan, that's not how we want to do this. We need your support. Voluntarily."

"And if I decide this is a plan I _can__'t_ support?" he asked.

Udina scowled. "Then we'll find someone else who can control James Shepard, and find you a new posting!"

"We'll do no such thing," Hackett countermanded immediately. "You have no authority to redeploy soldiers, Ambassador. I would caution you against forgetting your place." Udina huffed and puffed as he tried to come up with a response, but Hackett simply continued over him. "If you don't want to do this, Alenko, then we know of other people who will. But you won't lose your posting, nor will you lose our respect. It takes a brave man to stand up for his principles, and I know that John would be proud of you."

Kaidan looked first to Hackett, to the man's leather-skinned face, and troubled grey eyes. The most respected Admiral in the fleet. The man everybody wanted to serve beneath. A commander with wisdom to match his experience. Admiral Hackett wouldn't make a hasty decision like this; he'd do what was best for humanity, even at the cost of his own integrity.

Beside him, Udina was still looking sulky, but there was a fierce flame burning in his eyes that made Kaidan feel uncomfortable. The man was practically a zealot when it came to getting equal rights for humans. Earth owed him a lot, but he was always looking for more. He wouldn't think twice about putting a dangerous criminal up on a pedestal, just to prove a point to the Council.

Anderson's hand on Kaidan's shoulder was no longer an unwelcome weight; instead there was a calm, familiarity about it. The Captain's brown eyes observed Kaidan closely, but there was no anger in them, no desire, no sense of urging him towards one decision or another. Anderson meant every word he had said, of that Kaidan was sure.

_What was it they said about the road to hell?_

"Alright," he said at last. "I'll do it."

James Shepard. John Shepard's identical twin. What would he be like? How much would he have in common with the Normandy's former CO? And more importantly, what had he done to deserve life imprisonment?

"Excellent!" said Udina, the scowl replaced by a mask of calm neutrality now that the situation was going his way. "I will make the arrangements for James Shepard's release immediately. I'm sure, Captain, you'll have no problem convincing him of the wisdom of this path."

"You don't even have the guy's consent to this?" Kaidan asked.

"Not yet," said Anderson. "But we will."

"Lieutenant," Hackett spoke up, "as soon as the Ambassador has disembarked, please convey a message to the pilot. Tell him to get the ship aweigh, and set a course for the nearest relay."

Kaidan saluted, on firmer ground now that the orders were being issued with authority. "Yes, sir. Where should I tell Joker to head to?"

A smile tugged at the corners of the Admiral's mouth, but it was grim, and there was no humour in it.

"We're going to Purgatory."


	2. The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Dark Messiah

_2. The Good, The Bad and The Ugly_

Kaidan's earpiece crackled with static as the Normandy exited the Mass Effect relay, then spat out Joker's nasally voice.

"_Joker to Admiral Hackett, Captain Anderson and Lieutenant Alenko, we've just dropped to sublight speeds, ETA to Purgatory is three point five minutes. They've acknowledged our approach and are expecting us."_

"_We'll meet at the airlock and prepare for decon,"_ Hackett replied.

Kaidan put down his cloth and stashed his gun back in his locker. He'd managed to pass the whole morning cleaning the weapon, throwing himself into the soothing, almost therapeutic actions of disassembling the whole thing, cleaning the individual parts and then putting it all back together. There was something comforting about a clean, well-maintained gun, a certain reassuring feeling that it wouldn't let you down in the heat of the moment.

The crew members he encountered on the way to the airlock avoided eye-contact. The mood on the ship was sombre. By now, the whole crew had been told about their new commander, and none of them were thrilled about it. Willams, in particular, was disappointed, and understandably so; she'd spent her whole adult life trying to prove herself, fighting for every medal and commendation, trying to erase her grandfather's past mistakes. She'd earned her place on the Normandy despite bias against her family, and now a convicted criminal was being elevated to a high position despite everything he'd done, simply because he shared another man's face.

Justice wasn't as blind as those who dispensed it tried to claim.

Hackett and Anderson were already waiting outside the airlock when Kaidan arrived. He offered a salute, which they both returned. It felt good to stand on ceremony. To cling to these familiar actions. To know that even though the Normandy's command structure was about to be turned on its head, the small things would remain the same.

"You can see Purgatory from the starboard window," Joker called over his shoulder.

Kaidan leant against the nearest porthole and looked out into space. At first he could see nothing, but then the Normandy swung around and the converted prison ship loomed into view. It hung in space like a malevolent silver spider waiting to catch the proverbial fly, the light of the nearby binary suns rippling yellow and blue over its hull. Over a thousand dangerous prisoners were housed on the ship… what would happen if the Blue Suns ever lost control?

"Beginning docking sequence," said Joker.

"Captain," said Kaidan. He turned to Anderson, taking in the older man's tired expression. It was rare to see him looking so drained. "I'd like to know a little more about James Shepard."

"You read the personnel file I gave you?"

"Yes sir, but I was hoping for a little more personal insight. The personnel file gives me a long list of his disciplinary actions, cautions and the crimes which landed him in Purgatory, but it doesn't really tell me anything about the man. You knew him, didn't you?"

Anderson nodded. "Him and his brother, fresh out of basic training." He sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "I guess I should have given you more personal input before now. The first thing you need to know is that James is smart. Everybody thought his brother was the smart one, but James has a sharp mind; he just doesn't use it as he should. It's a shame he went off the rails, because if he'd stuck with his training, and stayed on the straight and narrow, he would have made a damn fine N7 marine. Probably a damn fine Spectre."

"You almost sound like you respect him."

"I respect the man he could have become, if he'd made the right choices. But he made a lot of bad ones, and he deserves every moment of the past six years in prison."

Kaidan nodded. Anderson was more sparing with praise than any other CO Kaidan had ever served under, and he demanded high standards of those he commanded. To hear him speaking so highly of a man who had betrayed everything the Alliance stood for… it seemed James Shepard's fall from grace was something Anderson took personally.

Further chance for questioning was abandoned as the Normandy docked with Purgatory. At least now Kaidan didn't have to look out of the window and see the ship looming menacingly nearby. A short jaunt in to the belly of the beast to extract a convicted criminal, and the Normandy would be back on its original course. Nobody aboard the ship had forgotten that there was a turian Spectre out there who needed taking down.

When the airlock door opened, Kaidan and Anderson flanked Admiral Hackett. Though Kaidan was wearing his combat armour, both the Captain and Admiral were wearing dress uniform. Previously apprised of the rules, Kaidan had left his sidearm in his locker, but that didn't matter; the amp plugged into his body was the only weapon he needed to get himself out of a tight situation.

A turian was waiting for them in the docking bay, tall even by his species' standards. Two guards flanked him, a turian and a human. Both were heavily armed. Kaidan tried not to let his eyes linger over their assault rifles.

"Admiral, it is good to see you in person," said the tall turian. His mandibles flared as he spoke, but after a week of being around Garrus, Kaidan no longer found the movement weird. "Warden Kuril, at your service."

"I trust there was no trouble with the transfer of credits?" Hackett asked.

Kaidan smiled when the warden's mandibles flared a little _too_ much. It seemed he hadn't expected to get right down to business.

"No problem at all," said Kuril. "We're preparing the prisoner. As per your request, he hasn't been informed of your visit, nor of your… purchase." His bright eyes glinted sadistically. "We'll let you advise him of that yourself."

"Please, take us to him."

"Right this way."

They followed the Warden along the docking bay corridor and into the prison proper. Judging by the name of the ship, Kaidan had been expecting some dank, blood-soaked nightmarish place, the sort of living hell in which one might expect to find Don Juan languishing. The retrofitted prison ship, however, looked more like a sterile hospital. There were no flickering lights, no rattling chains, no tang of blood saturating the air… with some chagrin, he realised he'd let his imagination run away with him.

When they reached one of the cell areas, unfriendly eyes stared out from the darker depths of the cells, glaring at the group as they passed. Kaidan heard at least one growl, and thought he saw a krogan pacing an area far too small for his bulk, but Kuril led them quickly on.

"Whaddya want with Shepard, anyway?" the Warden asked as they left the cells behind.

By prior agreement, Anderson and Kaidan remained silent. Hackett was along to provide the funds and the explanations. Nobody wanted the Blue Suns to find out why they were _really_ paying a small fortune to have a convict freed.

"The family of the man he killed have asked for him to be trialled for the crime, and because Shepard killed the man before he was dismissed from duty, it's the Alliance's responsibility to see that justice is served."

Kuril snorted, a bitter laugh issuing from his throat. "You make it sound like he only killed one man. Still, none of my business. I suppose when the trial is over and done with, Shepard will end up in some cushy human prison that's only concerned with his rights and making him comfortable?"

"His fate will be determined by the courts," the Admiral lied smoothly. How the hell did he manage to do it with a straight face? Kaidan couldn't convincingly tell a lie to save his life.

"Well, I hope you've got precautions in place on your ship. Shepard is one mean son of a bitch. He gets loose and you're going to have all kinds of trouble, and we won't be around to pull you out of it."

"Lieutenant Alenko will be handling Shepard until we get back to Earth," said Hackett, gesturing at Kaidan.

The Warden gave him the once-over, and then laughed. "What, this boy? _He__'s_ all that stands between Shepard and your crew?"

"I can handle it," Kaidan replied tersely. Hearing the Warden's laughter reminded him of Vyrnnus, back in BAaT. Not a good memory. Not a good time to be remembering it.

"We'll see."

"Does Shepard cause you a lot of trouble?" Hackett asked.

"Shepard? Nah. He's no trouble… to the Suns, at least. Can't say the same for the other prisoners, though. A couple of weeks after he first arrived, one of the other prisoners got it into his head to try and take certain… liberties. Probably thought Shepard would be too afraid to fight back. I never heard a man scream like that, and afterwards, we had to move the guy to a cell on the other side of the ship."

The Warden continued on, seemingly oblivious to the mental image he'd just painted, and Kaidan felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Anderson gave him the smallest of nods, and they both set off after Hackett and the turian.

o - o - o - o - o

James Shepard lay on his uncomfortable bunk, contemplating the cigarette which was slowly burning down with every drag of warm smoky air he pulled through it. Once upon a time, back in the dark ages, cigarettes had been responsible for cancer, and emphysema, and asthma in poor little kids subjected to nicotine invivo. Even when they knew cigarettes contributed to an early death, people still smoked them by the packetful. Then, along came a genuine, honest-to-God panacea. No more cancer. No more emphysema. No more itty-bitty kiddies coming out as dwarfs or as chess-club nerds because their mothers had smoked during their pregnancies. And as soon as people _had_ a miracle cure that could heal them of the ills gained by smoking nicotine… they stopped smoking it. Which just went to prove one fact.

People were fucking stupid.

Cigarettes weren't hard to come by. The Blue Suns did business with a lot of different merchants, and a growing number of them were human. Cigarettes might be anathema on Earth, but there were markets for them elsewhere, and wherever there was a market, there was bound to be a dealer. Supply to meet demand. Basic economics. Purgatory was good at basic economics.

Somebody approached, their booted footsteps echoing down the sterile corridor. James heard several jibes from nearby cells, empty death-threats called to one of the guards, the words as hollow as the voices which spoke them. Once you'd heard one death-threat, you'd heard them all. Which just went to prove another fact.

Prisoners were _really_ fucking stupid.

The footsteps stopped outside his cell, but he still had a third of his cigarette left, so he took another long drag and then puffed out a series of smoke-rings. He'd once known a man who could make smoke flowers, daisy-looking things caused by the smoke flowing through the gaps of his missing teeth. James had been trying for damn near eight years to replicate that feat, but all he'd been able to manage was wobbly circles. He just didn't have the teeth for flowers.

"You got visitors, Shepard," growled a raspy voice.

_Grillix_. Could be worse. Grillix hated him, of course, but not as deeply as some of the Blue Suns jailers.

"Nobody visits me," James said. "I've been here six years. Do you know how many visitors I've had in six years?"

"None."

"And do you know why that is?"

"Because nobody gives a fuck about a low-life piece of crap like you." Grillix' mandibles parted, showing a sharp-toothed grin.

"Exactly. Can't a man just be left in peace to smoke his cigarette and try to give himself a terminal illness?"

"Ordinarily I'd be happy to let you rot," Grillix admitted, "but these aren't any run-of-the-mill visitors. Kuril wants to get on their good side… hopes to make a repeat customer out of 'em."

"Yeah, well Kuril can go fornicate with himself."

"I'll be sure to pass along the sentiment. Now, you gonna come along quietly, or do I have to get Grek to shackle you?"

A huge krogan loomed into view behind Grillix, a wide grin splitting his scarred face. Nobody knew why Kuril had taken him on; krogans were rare in the Suns. But Grek was one of the more sadistic guards, and his sheer size meant most prisoners behaved themselves when he was around. James made a point of behaving himself whenever Grek was nearby. He'd already planned on how to kill the bastard, and all it would take was a little patience. No point tipping his hand before then. No point getting his spine ripped out through his mouth.

He threw his cigarette butt onto the floor and stamped on it, noting with satisfaction how the embers fizzled and died. It wouldn't be there when he returned to his cell. The more easily cowed and less dangerous of the prisoners—which was a very relative term, here on Purgatory—were used as a form of manual labour. They scrubbed floors, walls and lavatories, and that was on a good day.

Grillix disabled his cell's forcefield, and James stepped outside. There was no small-talk. Grillix simply set off and expected James to follow. And since Grek was still loitering close by, James followed without prompting. As he trailed after the turian, he ran through what he knew about krogan anatomy. He'd once known a guy who claimed to have killed a krogan in hand-to-hand combat. James had committed the story to memory, but he wasn't relying on it completely to help him deal with Grek. He'd have to be a little creative, to bring the bastard down.

A few prisoners called out more threats, to Grillix, to Grek, even to James. Most of them were still newbies, barely a year into their sentences, and still living under the deluded impression that their jibes actually meant something. That by threatening and posturing they were somehow sticking it to the man and showing how unafraid they were. They talked big… for as long as the forcefields were up. But as soon as those fields came down, and the Suns decided to teach a harsh lesson, the only sounds to be heard were strangled cries of pain.

"You want to know who your visitors are?" Grillix called over his shoulder.

James merely shrugged. "Why spoil the surprise?" Besides, Grillix seemed to be enjoying keeping him in the dark. There was no way the turian was telling.

He didn't have to wait long. Grillix directed him into one of the processing rooms, where three people were waiting with Warden Kuril. Two of the people were strangers, but the third was somebody James had never expected to see again. All three looked at him with disdain, but there was an angry fire in Anderson's eyes. So. Still pissed off at him, after almost nine years. The man could carry a grudge like no other.

"Well well," James said, affecting a surprised grin, "David. Long time no see. What brings you to this corner of the galaxy's shit-hole?"

"I'd hoped six years in Purgatory would teach you a little respect," Anderson retorted. He was all stiff-backed and clench-jawed. Still the same old uptight, by-the-book Anderson.

"Well, you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks, and my mom always told me I was an old soul."

"Warden, could we have a few moments with Shepard?" the elder of the strangers asked. Now that he looked a little closer, James realised there was something familiar about the man's face. When he noticed the admiral's pips on his collar, it wasn't hard to put two and two together. Admiral Hackett looked older than James would have expected.

"You can have five minutes," said Kuril. "If you need us, we'll be outside." The Warden stalked out, but stopped as he passed James, to growl a warning. "If you don't behave yourself, I'll have Grek pull your fingernails out. You know how much he likes doing that."

The door swished closed, and James felt as if he'd been thrust naked on stage in front of an audience. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd gone _anywhere_ on Purgatory unsupervised by guards. A guy couldn't even take a piss without an armed Sun standing over his shoulder.

"James Shepard," said Hackett, stepping forward but remaining out of arm's reach. Smart man. "My name is Admiral Steven Hackett, this is Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, and I believe you're already acquainted with Captain Anderson?"

"Well, it's not like we dated or anything," James shrugged, and noted the scowl creeping across on Anderson's face. Hackett ignored the comment, and the tone of insubordination with which it was delivered.

"I'm afraid we come bearing bad news."

"Oh, _don__'t_ tell me they've cancelled production of that second Blasto flick. I was really looking forward to watching that."

"It's about your brother, John." There was a look of genuine sadness on Hackett's face. "It is my duty to inform you that John Shepard died in the line of duty, just a couple of days ago."

James felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. His twin brother. Dead. And he hadn't even felt it. When had that happened? When had they stopped feeling what the other felt? Crying for each other's pain? Sharing each other's dreams? How could the only family that James had left have died without him knowing the exact nanosecond when it happened? And more importantly, why wasn't this message being delivered via an extranet mail announcement? Why the admiral and his lackey? Why _David_?

"I always knew Johnny wouldn't last two minutes without me," James said. His voice sounded hollow to his own ears, and he quickly realised why; these were the words he had rehearsed inside his head, every night before going to sleep. The words his mother had given him, when he was just nine years old. _You take care of your brother, Jamie. You know he wouldn__'t last two minutes out there without you._ His fingers twitched, longing for a cigarette to hold. To caress. For something to do other than be looked at and despised and pitied by these three uptight jerks. "Guess he proved me wrong, huh? He lasted eight years. Good for him."

"Can't you show the least bit respect?!" the younger stranger—what was it Hackett had called him, Alenko?—demanded angrily. "John, your twin brother, is dead, and all you can do is make jokes."

James looked at the stranger, let his gaze bore into the other man's eyes. Most people looked away from his stare, but Alenko didn't. Probably got desensitised to the stare by Johnny.

"The twin brother who never once came to see me, in all the time I've been here? Who never spoke in my defence when I was trialled in absentia back on Earth? The brother who _disowned_ me after I left the military? Who didn't even bother to send me an extranet mail on any of the birthdays we share? Is that the brother you're talking about, or do I have another twin brother around here somewhere that I don't know of?"

"We're not here to talk about the past," Hackett said, before Alenko could mouth-off again, "but to discuss the future."

"Sorry, but I already had my group therapy session today. It was great. We talked about our childhoods and we all got a cookie for good behaviour."

"This is a waste of time," Anderson spoke up. "Purgatory's made him an even bigger smart-ass than he was before."

"Regardless, we need his assistance," said Hackett. The old man took another step forward. He was a couple of inches shorter than James. Most people were. "You may not have heard about this, Shepard, but a couple of weeks ago, your brother was appointed as a Spectre by the Citadel Council."

James couldn't help but laugh. "Humanity's first Spectre dead in two weeks? That's going to ruin any chance of a feature-length movie, you know."

"He doesn't have to be dead," said Anderson. James laughed again. Then he realised David was being completely serious, and the laughter ceased immediately.

"Oh, I get it. Now that you've managed to get your first Spectre killed, you're going to try and bring in a back-up. A substitute, so you don't have to admit to the Council, and to humanity, how much we suck, and how easy we are to kill. Can you imagine? If the Terminus pirates catch wind of how easy it is to off a human Spectre, they'll descend on the colonies like a swarm of locusts. Mankind will have to go scurrying back to Earth with its tail between its legs." He grinned. "That about sum it up?"

"More or less," said Hackett. "For your assistance, you will be well-compensated with—"

"Don't care. Not interested."

All three men stared at him as if he'd just grown horns and a tail. James basked in the stunned silence. Hackett was the first to recover.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. You had your chance. The thoroughbred horse you backed lost the race, and now you want to bring out the unschooled stallion nobody wants to ride? The guy who's kept locked in a cage and forgotten about until you decide you need him? I was born at night, Admiral, but I wasn't born _last_ night. You used my brother and got him killed. You won't use me the same way. I'd rather rot here in hell."

"Humanity needs you," said Alenko, possibly trying to appeal to his softer side.

"Fuck humanity."

"Don't you care that you'll spend the rest of your life in a cell?" asked Anderson.

"I stopped caring after four years here. There's a system, and as long as you don't rock the boat, it works. I'm not saying it's the Ritz, but I used to soldier for the Alliance, so I've been in worse places."

"That's a load of bullshit, Shepard," Anderson growled. "I know you. I know you like the action. The violence."

James barked out a harsh laugh. "And you think there's no action here? That a single day goes by without _some_ sort of violence being committed? I have a bed I can tall my own, two meals per day, and all the cigarettes I care to smoke. Why would I want to trade that for being the military's lap-dog, jumping through hoops and probably being shot at on every single mission?" He looked down at his dark blue jumpsuit, patting himself down before turning around to show his back. "Does it say 'mug' on my shirt? Did somebody write on 'idiot' whilst I was asleep? No? I didn't think so. Thanks for the news about Johnny, but you should've saved yourself a trip and sent it on the net."

He didn't wait for a response. He tapped the door button and waited for it to open. Kuril was standing right before him, looming over him in the way only a turian could.

"We're done here," James said. "I want to go back to my cell."

It clearly wasn't the outcome Kuril was expecting, because his mandibles widened in surprise. But when none of the three Alliance jerks spoke up, Kuril motioned for Grillix and Grek to take James back to his cell. He followed behind his jailers without even a glance back.


	3. Negotiation

Dark Messiah

_3. Negotiation_

"I have to admit, I never expected James to decline our offer. I thought he'd jump at the chance to get out of Purgatory." Hackett looked as defeated as he sounded.

"We just need to be patient," Anderson replied. "I know Shepard; he won't pass up this opportunity. We've planted the seeds of ideas in his mind, and now he needs time to dwell on them. Those seeds will take root and grow, and Shepard will change his mind. Though we may have made a mistake in not taking Shepard right away. We told Warden Kuril that he was going to stand trial, then failed to take him into custody. That's got to have piqued his curiosity."

"I'm not worried about Kuril," said Hackett. Even despite everything that had happened, and the massive setback they'd suffered on Purgatory, he was still calm, logical. "If we'd taken Shepard right there and then, we'd only have to find somewhere to put him whilst he comes to his senses. I'd rather have him sitting in Purgatory than on the Normandy, regardless of the suspicions it raises."

Silence settled over the comm room. In accordance with Kuril's wishes, the Normandy had moved a few klicks away from Purgatory. For "safety" reasons. But it wasn't as if the prison vessel could out-run the Normandy. For now, Kuril, Shepard and the military's five million blood-money credits weren't going anywhere.

It had been six hours since Shepard's rejection of Hackett's proposal. Six hours spent waiting and wondering. And although the face Kaidan presented to the others was one of disappointment, deep in his heart he harboured a secret relief. If James wouldn't go along with the military's plane for him, then Kaidan and the rest of the Normandy crew wouldn't have to lie to people. To deceive men, women and children who deserved only the truth. And Kaidan wouldn't have to bear the responsibility of babysitting a dangerous, murdering madman.

"Sir," he spoke up, "how long are we going to sit here waiting for Shepard to change his mind?"

"As long as it takes, Lieutenant," said Anderson. "As long as it takes."

He nodded, the answer only confirming his suspicions. "Then with your permission, I'll go and notify the rest of the crew."

"Of course."

Kaidan left the Captain and Admiral to their plotting. If these were the sorts of decisions that had to be made when one reached a higher rank, then he hoped he'd never be promoted above Lieutenant.

o - o - o - o - o

Slender blue fingers danced across his skin, tracking the scars which criss-crossed his chest. James lay on the small, comfortable bed looking up at the same white ceiling he'd stared up at three nights a week for the past five years. By now, that ceiling was as familiar to him as his own cell.

A sigh issued from the woman lying beside him. She sat up and reached for her vest. The rest of her clothes were dumped unceremoniously in a pile beside her bed, her pistol serving as the cherry topping. In many ways, she was a cruel and sadistic as Grek, only her taunts were less obvious. More psychological.

_Bitch_.

"I suppose I'll have to find myself a new play-thing," she said. Her voice was deep, rich, the kind of voice a man could fall in love with, if that man wasn't James Shepard. Did she realise, he wondered, the strange dichotomy she posed? How he felt torn in two every time she summoned him to her room for her own entertainment?

Of course. She _had_ to know. She was a woman, and all women were predators regardless of whether they were asari or human. Salia had a fine body. A voice which could tug at a man's testicles. Flawless blue skin. There were men who would have paid through the nose to spend even a single night with her. Who would have considered themselves blessed to be summoned and used by her three nights a week. And though James was never left unsatisfied—as long as he satisfied her first, of course—he still, after five years, couldn't _quite_ get over the fact that she was blue.

She interrupted his reverie with another interjection.

"You're unusually quiet. What's the matter? Grek got your tongue? Or are you just thinking about how much you'll miss these little trysts of ours when you're gone?" She smiled without warmth and tugged on her pants. She was due to start a shift in half an hour, but even when she had time to spare she didn't like lying around in bed cuddling and playing lovey-dovey. All business. That was Salia. Wham, bam, thank you sir.

He sat up, grabbed one of her ankles, and pulled her down the bed. She very nearly squealed as he pinned her shoulders to the bed with one hand. He free hand snaked up her pants, sliding beneath the undershirt. Her skin was smooth as velvet.

"I always wondered why Kuril hated me," he said, his voice low, sinister. "Why he let Grek loose on me every once in a while. Figured he didn't like my mouth. My mom always said I had a smart mouth. But when I saw him today, standing outside that processing room door, I finally figured it out. Saw it in his eyes. Gotta burn; a big man like him, being dropped for some low-life human scum. That's why he can't get rid of me fast enough. He'll be sticking it to you again before the end of the day."

A blast of biotic energy sent him flying. He curled his arms around his head whilst he was airborn, and hit the far wall. A jolt of pain shot through his shoulder. By the time he'd uncurled himself and sat up, the biotic glow had faded from her body and she was halfway to being dressed.

"I hope that smart mouth of yours serves you well in your new cell on Earth, Shepard. Doubtless your own people won't put up with your bullshit like we did."

She clipped her pistol to her belt and left him naked and in pain sitting on the floor, his back propped up against the wall. Best that he didn't linger. Grek was outside, waiting to take him back to his cell. Salia liked Grek to be the one to escort him to and from her room, because she knew how much he hated Grek, and she knew how much it pissed Grek off to know that James was being given any sort of comfort or pleasure. Two birds, one stone.

A sadistic bitch indeed.

He pulled on his pants and his shirt, and finally his uncomfortable prison-issue shoes. They were elasticated. Most prisoners couldn't be trusted with laces, in case they tried to use them to garrotte a guard.

When he left the room, he found Grek inspecting his weapon. How easy it would be, to grab that weapon and turn it on its owner. But even if he managed to kill Grek before another guard arrived, he'd only suffer for it. It wasn't like there was anywhere he could escape to. Purgatory only travelled to an inhabited system once a month, to offload prisoners and take on new flesh.

Perhaps it was a time for a change of scenery. Accepting Hackett's offer had been his plan all along, but the matter of how long to leave the Alliance stewing was an important one. Come running back too soon, and they'd think he was playing them. Leave it too long, and they might actually depart and make other plans.

Tomorrow. He'd get one last good night's sleep in his cell, and get Kuril to make the call tomorrow. It wouldn't be hard to make the military think him cowed. He'd play along for a while. Be the good soldier. The dutiful son. Eventually, Anderson would slip up and lower his guard, and James would get his chance.

For once, he didn't mind when Grek growled at him to get moving or lose some fingernails. He drowned out the krogan's voice by humming an old Earth tune inside his head. And as he hummed, he heard an echo of his mother's voice providing the words for the song.

_Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!_

o - o - o - o - o

Most prisoners on Purgatory only saw the processing rooms once in their whole lives. The lucky ones, who'd been serving less than life, saw them twice; once when they arrived, and once when they left. James Shepard had now seen the processing room three times, and two of those times within the past twenty-four hours. It was something that had never happened to any of Purgatory's prisoners before. But then, mom always said he was special.

It was just him, Hackett, Alenko and David. Kuril was waiting outside the door, probably ready to head towards the nearest relay as soon as James had been removed from the ship. But first, there were a few details to work out. You didn't sell your soul to a bunch of self-righteous pricks without first asking for your own weight in gold.

"So," said James, as he leant casually against one of the processing room walls and offered a casual grin, "I believe you wanted to deal?"

Anderson grumbled something inaudible. Alenko shifted his weight from one foot to another. Hackett ignored them both, choosing instead to fix James with his watery blue-eyed gaze.

"There is only one deal on offer. You either take it, or you leave it. Our terms are thus: You will pose as your brother until the Normandy's current mission is over. After completing the mission you will be given an apartment on Earth. You'll be fitted with a subdermal tracking chip, and be required to check in with a probation officer once per week. You'll be allowed to travel to any of the planets within Sol, but you are forbidden from leaving the home system. From time to time we might need you to attend public events and give speeches as John Shepard, and you will comply with our requests in a manner befitting a Commander of the Alliance military."

"Not good enough," he said. "You're asking me to trade one prison for another. After I'm done with your little mission, I want autonomy."

Hackett shook his head. "Never going to happen. We can't have the man who looks like John Shepard going back to his old ways. We don't want you continuing your vendetta against the batarians, and we don't want you dropping off the radar. You live our the rest of your life on Earth, as John Shepard, highly decorated Commander and retired Spectre. You're still a criminal, James. Even if it was within my power to grant you autonomy, I wouldn't risk letting you loose. I'd rather you spent the rest of your life on Purgatory."

James looked at Hackett, trying to get a measure of the old guy's resolve. Not that it mattered; there were always ways around the rules. Did they think a subdermal tracking chip would make him think twice about going on the run? Subdermal chips were easy to remove. What was one more scar to a man who bore more of them than most soldiers?

"What assurances do I have," he asked, "that when you're finished with me, you won't just make me disappear? After all, a missing Spectre is bound to generate an air of mystery. Encourage more young idiots to aspire to become like their absent hero. How do I know you won't try to make my brother into a legend by simply disposing of me?"

"Don't tempt us," said Anderson.

Hackett merely shook his head. "We're not in the business of making people disappear, James. You have my personal assurance that you won't be disposed of after the mission."

"For whatever that's worth," James sneered. It wasn't as if the guy was going to sign his name to a written contract. "Alright, I'll agree to your terms, but I get to pick the city and the apartment."

"Agreed."

"And my silence is going to cost you."

"Get this through your thick skull, Shepard," Anderson said through clenched teeth, "this isn't a negotiation. You don't get to make demands."

"Au contraire. I think you'll find that a negotiation is _exactly_ what this is. As for my demands, they're not excessive. If nobody knows Johnny's dead, then you're still paying his wages. Keep paying them to me. And I get his retirement pay, too. If I'm going to be my brother, then I should benefit from my duplicity. Any money I make from advertisements and endorsements is mine to keep. You'll ensure I'm given a monthly allowance for food and you'll pay all the bills on my apartment. Oh, and I want a skycar. A new one. I'm a bit out of the loop so I'll just take whichever is the best model at the time I 'retire' from my duties."

"Anything else?" asked Hackett.

"No, I'm not greedy. As long as my basic needs are met, I'm happy. You'll find that six years in prison will lower a man's expectations. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal."

James grinned. "Now. Perhaps you'd like to clue me in on the 'mission.' What important work was my brother doing before he was shuffled loose from the mortal coil?"

Anderson stepped forwards, to take care of the minutiae. He liked doing that. Being in charge. Issuing the orders. Made him feel big and important. Some things never changed.

"He'd been given a mission by the Council to track down and apprehend a rogue turian Spectre named Saren. John was following up on a lead when he was killed in a firefight."

"Rogue Spectre, huh? I thought those guys were allowed to do whatever they wanted to accomplish their missions. What did he do; drown a bag of puppies? Fiddle with someone's kid? Space somebody for the sheer fun of it?"

"He led an army of synthetic AIs known as 'geth' to our colony on Eden Prime," Kaidan spoke up. "They killed almost everyone, then tried to level the place with bombs. I was there with John, to catch the tail end of the violence. It was a slaughter."

A quiet voice began ranting inside James' head. Images whirled in his mind, transporting him to another place and time. Memories of corpses piled on corpses. Dusty streets stained red with the blood of innocent men, women and children. The acrid scent of smoke and char filled his nose and choked his throat, and above it all were the screams… the screams of pain and death and _Jamie, help me!_

He shook his head, dispelling the images, and shivered. The three men were watching him. God, how he wanted a smoke.

"Why'd this Saren guy lead an army of these geth to Eden Prime?" he asked. Anderson and Alenko shared a glance, hesitation written all over their faces. He knew right then that whatever they told him would be a lie, so he held up his hand to stall them. "Fine, don't tell me. I don't care that you don't trust me. It doesn't matter. I'll find this 'Saren' and stop him. No sweat. Then I'm out. No more missions. No more jumping through burning hoops. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Hackett. "Are you ready to leave Purgatory?"

"What, right now? I figured I'd get chance to go pack a bag. Say goodbye to some of the crims I've forged brotherly friendships with. Engage in some last-minute shower-based camaraderie. Thank my therapist for all his hard work."

"Smart-ass," Anderson muttered, shaking his head.

Kuril was waiting outside the processing room, with Grek and another of the guards. James fell into line behind Hackett. Whatever story the old man had told the Warden, it would probably be best to play along. Play the part of the scolded puppy. Let Kuril think he was rid of James once and for all. A complacent man rarely saw the dagger until it was sticking out of his chest.

"We'll be taking James Shepard into custody now," Hackett said.

"Good riddance," said Kuril. He offered Hackett his hand. "It's been a pleasure doing business with the Alliance, Admiral Hackett. Please, keep us in mind should you need to procure any more prisoners. Nobody sheds a tear when men like these go missing."

As they walked back towards the docking bay, James realised he should have been feeling something. Elation at getting out. Regret at not being able to kill Grek while he had the chance. Disappointment at losing access to the finest piece of asari ass in this sector of the galaxy. But all he could think about was getting back to his original mission. To tell himself he was free would simply be a lie; he wasn't free, he was just in a cell with a slightly better view and less random violence. And deep down, he still felt hollow inside. There was a hole inside him, and it had been there since he was sixteen years old. Since the night he had lost everything, including his own soul. Only two things could fill that hole, and he'd find neither of them on the Normandy.

When he reached the threshold of the airlock, he turned back and looked at the krogan behind Kuril.

"Hey, Grek. One day, I'm going to come back here, and I'm going to carve my name into your still-warm corpse."

"You know where to find me, princess," Grek replied, blowing an air-kiss.

He spun back when prompted by Anderson, and watched his former jailers as the airlock door swished closed. There was one good thing about getting out of this place, he thought, as the decon procedure automatically started up and began scanning the four men in the bay. At least he wouldn't have to put up with any more krogans.


	4. Dead Man's Secrets

Dark Messiah

_4. Dead Man__'s Secrets_

The Normandy was an impressive ship, but James wasn't given the luxury of a tour. As soon as the ship was aweigh, he was frog-marched to the medical bay by Nanny Alenko and subjected to a full physical by a grey-haired doctor. The first thing she did was purse her lips and frown when he removed his shirt and she saw his myriad scars.

"If those injuries had been treated promptly with the correct dosage of medi-gel, they would never have left behind such extensive scarring."

"Triage isn't an important aspect of prison life, Doc," James told her. "I'm sure I'll receive a much higher quality of medical care under your expertise."

"I'd prefer it if you wouldn't get injured in the first place."

"Really? Then you're in the minority. You should have seen the death-glares the crew gave me on the way down here. You'd think I was personally responsible for killing their childhood pets or something."

"They don't trust you. They don't have any reason to. Perhaps if you gave them one, they'd be less inclined to wish you ill." She booted up her medical omni-tool and began scanning his body. James treated her to the most sincere smile he could muster.

"That's why I like doctors. They treat everyone like equals. I'm going to make a point of getting injured on every mission just so I have an excuse to come down here and talk to you."

"I think you'll find me a little old for your flattery, Mr Shepard."

"Please, call me James," he told her. "As for flattery… you'll have to forgive me. Six years on a prison ship tends to erode the social skills somewhat."

"Hmph. If you ask me, there's nothing wrong with your social skills at all," she sniffed. But there was a twinkle in her eye as she said it.

James Shepard's First Rule of Life in Combat: Get on the right side of your medic. If there was any chance of that person having their hands inside your guts at any point in your life, make sure you made a friend out of them first. He'd heard horror stories about vindictive doctors leaving behind little 'presents' inside patients they disliked. If a doctor liked you, they'd probably treat you faster, and give you better pain medication. If there was any one person on this ship that James wanted on his side, it was Doctor Chakwas.

And possibly the cook.

But that was a rule for another time.

Towards the end of the medical, Anderson and Hackett reappeared to stand beside Kaidan, who'd watched the whole thing with a feigned lack of interest. When Chakwas indicated she was finished, James put his shirt back on.

"How's our newest recruit, Doctor?" asked Hackett.

"Aside from some old scar tissue which I can't do anything about? He's in surprisingly good health, considering he just spent the last six years in a prison. No signs of malnourishment or dehydration, decent electrolyte levels, bone density ideal for man of his age and weight, well-defined musculature—"

"Yeah, I like to work out," James interrupted. "Two hundred push-ups every morning, followed by five-hundred sit-ups. Then fifty pull-ups on the bar the Suns were kind enough to fit in my cell once I promised not to try hanging myself from it. Even managed to do a bit of wrestling, every once in a while. Most guys really let themselves go when they're sentenced to life in prison, but I liked to keep a routine. Helped me maintain my perspective."

"Well, your routine has certainly helped," said Chakwas. "Although you'll probably have to do some work to get your cardio-vascular fitness levels back up to peak efficiency, you're otherwise fit for duty."

"Thanks, Doc. I really feel validated as a person."

"Would you excuse us please, Doctor Chakwas?" asked Anderson. "We have a few things to discuss with James before we reach the Citadel."

"Of course, Captain. Admiral."

Chakwas left, and James found himself once more in the company of Hackett, Anderson and Alenko. It was like having his own fanclub… of people who detested and looked down on him.

"Now that you're officially a part of this crew," said Hackett without preamble, "there are a few ground rules you need to be aware of."

"I know, I know. Don't leave the bathroom light on, don't feed the hamster after midnight, don't open the airlock door in space… I _have_ been on a ship before, you know."

"For God's sake, just shut up and listen for once in your life," said Anderson.

James straightened up and pulled off a regulation salute. "There's a thought. If I'm going to be obeying your orders, shouldn't I have my old rank back?"

"You've not been reinstated into the military, Shepard," Hackett explained. The guy had the patience of a saint. Or a father. Probably one of those poor men who'd been cursed with five daughters. "You don't get your old rank back. You're masquerading as a Lieutenant Commander and a Spectre; that's more than enough. Now, whilst you're aboard the Normandy, there will be areas which are no-go for you. You aren't to enter the cockpit, and engineering is also off-limits. Whilst you're in the CIC, your access to terminals will be restricted. You won't have an account on any of the ship's computers, save for the one in the captain's private quarters."

James nodded along. Pretty standard stuff, and he'd expected no less. He absently patted his pockets, looking for a spare cigarette, then belatedly recalled that Grillix still had the packet.

Shit.

"Whilst your presence will be required on some missions," Hackett continued, oblivious to James' impending nicotine crisis, "you won't technically be calling the shots on them. When your presence is unavoidable, you will defer at all times to Lieutenant Alenko. He will do all the talking to anybody you might encounter, and he will personally command each mission."

James shot his hand into the air.

"Yes?" Hackett said, suppressing a sigh.

"What happens if he dies?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Whilst you're aboard the ship, Lieutenant Alenko will be keeping a close eye on you. At the first sign that you're causing trouble or trying to renege on our agreement, he's been ordered to contact the Fifth Fleet so that we can send a team to bring you back to Earth and have you permanently incarcerated."

"Oh, that's why he was watching my medical? I thought he just wanted to see me with my shirt off." He turned to face Alenko, who was looking more and more unhappy with the situation by the minute. "I'm telling you now, you're not watching me piss. I had enough of my privacy invaded on Purgatory. I have to know a guy well before I share a bathroom with him."

"Is it too late to request that transfer, sir?" Alenko asked Hackett.

"Sounds like your nursemaid's getting cold feet, David."

Anderson turned to Alenko, excluding James from the rest of the conversation, and said, "Take him up to his room and lock him in there until we've made the stop at the Citadel and you're en route to Noveria."

"Aye, sir."

"Guess this is goodbye for now then, David," said James. He offered another over-the-top salute. "Auf wiedersehen. Bon voyage. Ciao."

"Just remember, Shepard," his old mentor replied, "space isn't quite as big as humanity first thought. I can be back aboard the Normandy in a matter of hours, if necessary. And if you get it into your head to try running, there's nowhere you can go that we can't catch you."

"Run?" James laughed. "Now why would I run? I get to play at being a Spectre. I get to play with guns. Embrace the violence, and all that. I thought you _knew_ me, David?"

"Just get the hell out of my sight," Anderson growled.

Kaidan chivvied him out the door and towards the nearest staircase. The few glances James caught from the crew were frosty. No doubt those faces had smiled happily at his brother. Their commander. Their bloody self-proclaimed saviour and egocentric hero. Well, let them glare. It wasn't his fault Johnny had gotten himself killed. It wasn't James' fault he had to be here, playing at being somebody he never had been and never could be. Fuck the stupid crew and their stupid glassy stares.

Fuck 'em all.

o - o - o - o - o

You could slice the tension in the comms room with a knife and serve it in dishes. Kaidan had the seat to James Shepard's right, and Ashley to his left. That unfortunately meant that Wrex, Tali, Garrus and Liara were arrayed in front of Shepard like a judging panel, and Kaidan had a sneaking suspicion he'd been shunted into position of bailiff. He didn't even have to look at Shepard to feel the man's discomfort, which hadn't lessened after the introductions had been made.

"Nobody told me there were aliens on this crew," James said at last. He'd clearly found his brother's wardrobe and now lounged in his chair wearing an Alliance shirt and pants. His brother's boots fit him like a glove, despite them being big boots to fill. Watching him sit there, emanating arrogance and displeasure, Kaidan couldn't help but feel James Shepard just wasn't going to measure up regardless of Udina's plan. It was a stupid plan anyway.

"It's like the start of some crappy joke," Shepard continued. "A krogan, a turian, an asari and a… well, I have no idea what the hell you are… walk into an Alliance ship—"

"I am quarian," said Tali. If she was miffed beneath her mask, her voice gave no indication. Quarians were used to hostility.

"One of the folks who created the geth? Well, that's just fantastic."

"Commander Shepard felt my expertise would come in useful. He saved my life, and I am dedicated to helping bring down Saren."

A smile tugged at the corner of Kaidan's lips. It was hard not to like Tali; she was as honest and enthusiastic as they came. Which was surprising, because he'd always heard that quarians were thieves and scoundrels. He'd been forced to re-evaluate that belief as soon as he'd met Tali'Zorah nar Rayya.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Kaidan asked Shepard.

James shrugged his broad shoulders. "Lemme get back to you on that." He interlinked his fingers in front of him and cracked his knuckles. "So. What's on Noveria?"

"Noveria is a privately-chartered planet owned by the Noveria Development Corporation," Garrus explained. "A couple of dozen major companies have stakes in it, and it's not technically part of Citadel space. The planet's predominantly mountains and ice, and some pretty big science and tech companies have research facilities located—"

"Look, I didn't ask for a bedtime story," Shepard interrupted. "I don't need to know the finer details. Just tell me who or what I'm going there to shoot, and why."

"Do we _have_ to take him with us?" Williams complained.

"The only reason Noveria's security let us land in the first place was because of Shepard's status as a Spectre," said Kaidan. He'd been expecting opposition, but not this soon. "Without James, we'll just be stonewalled behind bureaucracy. The ERCS know that the Alliance has no jurisdiction on their planet. Without Shepard's face we'll get to do nothing more than sit inside the Normandy twiddling our thumbs."

"For those of us who actually possess thumbs," James said, with a faux apologetic smile for Tali, Wrex and Garrus.

"Alenko," Wrex rumbled, "you need a third man for your team, and I won't take no for an answer. Last time I got left behind, and somebody ended up dead. Now it's time for a little payback."

"But Shepard promised me a place on the team," Liara spoke up. She didn't even flinch when Wrex glared at her; a sign of how determined she was to get her way.

"What's your interest in this, Blue?" asked James.

The asari lifted her chin. "My name is Liara." Then she shrank back into her chair, the momentary defiance gone. "As for my interest… my mother's voice was heard speaking on the same audio file which implicated Saren's involvement with the geth and his attack on Eden Prime. If she's involved, then I want to look her in the eyes and ask why."

"If anybody should go on this mission, it should be me," said Tali. "If there's even a remote chance that we may run into the geth there, then you need me on your team."

"Everybody calm down." Kaidan stood and took a step forward.

All eyes quickly fell on him. He was no John Shepard, but he couldn't let everything fall apart now, not after losing Jenkins, then Shepard… not after everything that had happened on Eden Prime. This was too important. The mission was too big for one man to shoulder alone. Countless humans were relying on the Normandy, and so was the rest of the galaxy, even if they didn't know it yet.

"Look," he continued, when he had everybody's undivided attention. "I know Shepard made a lot of promises… promises I want to try to keep, even though he's gone. The way I see it, the mistake he made when choosing the ground-team for Noveria was in picking a small group in the hopes of moving quickly and quietly. He wasn't expecting to meet with such resistance so soon, and I don't plan on making the same mistake again. I've lost three crewmates in the past week or so; two to early graves, and one to bureaucracy, and I'm not about to lose any more. This time, we're all going. We can all contribute. We work as a team, and we achieve our goals. That's all that matters."

"Aye aye, Lieutenant," Williams said immediately.

"Sounds like somebody took extra motivational speech-giving classes at the academy," said Shepard. He patted his pocket, then shook his head. "So. We head to Noveria, take out whoever killed my brother, find Liandra's mother—"

"Liara!"

"—and get her to spill the beans on this Saren character. That about sum it up?"

"That sounds about right," Kaidan agreed.

"Oh?" Shepard leant forward in his chair, shadows dancing across his face, giving it a more sinister cast. "Then why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything? For example, how'd Saren manage to gain control of the geth? And why would an asari be helping him? And if he hates humans so much, then why didn't he just launch a surprise attack on Earth? It's what I'd do, if I had a legion of synthetic soldiers at my command."

"Like you said, you don't need to know about the finer details. All you need to know that Saren is a threat not only to humanity, but to the galaxy itself. It was your brother's job to track him down and bring him to justice. Let me handle the rest."

"Sure. Okay. Just leave me out of your 'teamwork' speeches. I'm morally opposed to hypocrisy."

"That's an unfair accusation," Williams shot back.

"Not from where I'm sitting, sweetheart."

Ashley's eyes narrowed. The look she gave James could have melted a glacier. "Did you just call me _sweetheart_?"

But James ignore her. He pushed himself to his feet, fists clenched, face scowling. "Look at you all. Sitting here, playing at being heroes in your little ship, blindly groping your way, completely oblivious to how life _really_ works. You're goddamn kids who were stupid enough to follow the biggest goddamn kid of all. I'll tell you this; it's a good job my brother died when he did, because sooner or later he would have got all of you killed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sit in the dark, so that my geographical location has symmetry with my metaphysical place on this so-called 'team.'"

He left, and for a long moment silence reigned. Then, Williams cleared her throat.

"That guy is a major jackass."

"He does seem very hostile," Liara agreed.

"Maybe we _should_ tell him about the prothean beacon, and the Conduit," said Garrus.

"No," Kaidan said immediately. "Absolutely not. Captain Anderson believes, and I completely agree, that no good can come from James Shepard—a man who is capable of as much evil as Saren—from knowing about the Conduit, or the Reapers. And that's final."

o - o - o - o - o

James paced the length of his newly inherited room, working off some of his energy. He wasn't pissed off at Alenko – not anymore. He'd learnt long ago not to let the little things bother him. Alenko was just doing his job like a good little jumped-up soldier boy, and there was a bigger picture to consider. Namely, how to get the hell out his new prison and find a way back to his much more important personal mission.

So much time had been lost on Purgatory. So many years of his life he wouldn't get back. Not that he particularly cared for those years, save for the fact that they'd kept him from fulfilling a promise he'd made almost fifteen years ago. This was his chance to get back on track. To make amends. And he had to move before the mission was over and he was trapped on Earth.

The computer on the desk, ignored during his previous exploration of the room and its various cupboards, now caught his attention. James slid onto the comfortable chair and switched on the screen. He was immediately presented with the Alliance's security-check page.

James smiled. "Well, Johnny-boy, let's see if you and I still think alike." His fingers skipped over the holographic keypad, spelling out _TheresNoPlaceLikeHome#42_. When he hit the return key the screen hung for a moment, then he was straight into John's account on the Alliance military's portal.

There were links in a menu down the left side of the screen, and one immediately caught his eye. It sat between _Extranet Search_ and _Saved Documents_. He navigated over to _Personal Logs_ and hit enter. There were a dozen or so, each neatly arrayed in date order, the newest files first. Without hesitation, he clicked the topmost file

"_Noveria. It's our best lead. Why would Saren send Matriarch Benezia there? What is she looking for? I've asked Liara but she's been out of touch with her mother for so long…"_

Boring. He skipped to the next file.

"_I had the dream again. The same dream I've had every night since I was… I dunno… touched by the beacon?"_ Beacon? What the hell was a beacon? _"Dream. More like a nightmare. But worse. Nightmares I can handle. God knows I've had enough of them. But this one… it's more real than anything I've ever experienced. More real than Eden Prime. More real than Virmire. More real than Mindoir."_ James felt his left hand curl into a fist, but he was compelled by some indescribable force to keep reading. _"The worst part is… the ending is always the same. The reapers come, and civilisation ceases to exist. Fifty-thousand years of evolution, of progress… gone. Erased, as if it never existed. Or rather, _almost_ never existed. The protheans were smart. The caches they left were undetectable by the reapers. Mars is proof of that. The beacon that gave me these goddamn visions is proof. Why won__'t the Council believe me? I can't let Saran find the conduit. I can't let him bring back the reapers. I won't let the cycle continue. It ends here. Now. This time it will be different. I'll make sure of it."_

The log ended and James sat back in his chair. The ravings of a madman. Reapers? Conduit? Beacon? Cycle? What the hell had Johnny gotten himself into here? Whatever it was, it sounded big. Anderson and Hackett probably knew about it, along with the crew of the Normandy who were doing their best to keep it from him… but whatever it was, why weren't the Council taking it more seriously? Probably had their heads too far up their own asses to see the truth.

Feeling like he'd just stumbled across a mystery novel, James selected the next log.

"_Damn, Therum was hot. Just finished up with Chakwas; she's given me something for the two lungfuls of hot dust I inhaled… note to self: don't do that again. It hurts like hell. Everyone else is okay. We got lucky; could have gone much worse. Liara seems to be settling in fine. She's shaken by what she's been through, and upset about her mom… wish I could say something to help, but she's got twenty years on me, and I'm not sure she wants to hear platitudes right now. It's strange… if she were human, she'd be pushing old age, but as far as asari go, she's little more than a kid. Guess that explains the wide-eyed expression she's been wearing ever since she came aboard. I don't know what it is, but there's something about her… her mannerisms, her outlook, her naïveté… she reminds me so much of Jasmine."_

"You son of a bitch," James growled to his absent brother. "You don't get to say her name. You don't get to compare her to some blue-skinned whore. Not after what you did."

His finger hovered over the 'delete' button. With one tap of a virtual key he could rid himself of these logs forever. He could erase the last recorded thoughts of John Anthony Shepard. It wasn't as if anybody would care. Twenty years from now, these logs would still be classified. It wasn't as if they'd be preserved in a museum for future wannabe-Spectres to memorise and idolise. Nobody need ever know they had existed in the first place.

On the verge of pressing delete, he held back. There was one reason, and one reason alone, to keep these logs around. One day, no matter how long it took, James would find Jasmine. He would rescue her. He would bring her back here and he would show her these logs. And then Jasmine would know the depth of her elder brother's crimes. She would know that John had moved on with his life, after Mindoir. She would know that John had mourned her and left her for dead, a memory from his past to be placed like a museum piece, visited only when he felt nostalgic.

After he had rescued her, James would tell her exactly the hell he had been through to find her, the blood he had shed for her, the men he had killed for her, and he would show her these logs so that she knew he was the only one who had cared enough to keep hunting for her after the batarian slavers took her. She and he and mom… they would all be together again. These logs would prove Johnny was a traitor to his own blood. And after that, James would take care of mom and Jasmine. He would make sure they were safe. Nobody would ever lay a finger on them again, for as long as he lived.

But first, there was a lot to learn from these logs. Hating his brother even more than usual, James turned to the first entry.


	5. Take Two

Dark Messiah

_5. Take Two_

James pulled on the N7 chest plate and locked it into place. He could tell Johnny had prised it above all other possessions by the way it gleamed, not a speck of dust present to mar its pristine surface. Even when they'd both joined up and been assigned the same room during basic training, John hadn't been this clean. He was always on the move, always on the go, jumping from one activity to another without a moment to spare for polishing his dusty armour and shining his muddy boots. James had done it for him, because you didn't let your only brother get chewed out on morning inspection, even if he _was_ an irresponsible brown-noser.

The gloves were the only piece of equipment left in the locker, so he took them and donned them, conscious that the rest of the ground team—minus Alenko, who was off consulting his masters in the comms room—were all warily gearing up around him. Not a single one of them spoke. There was no banter. No camaraderie. No reminiscing about the last team who'd prepared for a mission to Noveria. Each and every one of them thought themselves better than him. They didn't want to lower themselves to speaking with him unless absolutely necessary. And that was just fine, because he had no desire to listen to their holier-than-thou comments.

One by one they left, heading up to the airlock. Wrex, then Tali'Zorah, then Liara, and Williams, until James was left with Garrus. After a few minutes of being watched by the turian, he finally snapped, "What?"

"I've spent the last few years of my life working in C-Sec to put men like you behind bars," said Garrus. "In a way, your being here simply validates what I've suspected for a long time; that the system is broken. Corrupt. That everything I've dedicated my life to has been a fallacy perpetuated by those in power who make the big decisions."

"Men like me? You don't know a thing about me," he scoffed.

"I know what you did to the crew of the turian frigate you hijacked."

Well, that certainly explained the deep suspicion and open resentment in the turian's pale eyes.

"Sure you do," James said.

"I also know that your so-called team abandoned you as soon as the turian fleet sent to recover the ship caught up with you."

"Yeah, that's exactly how it happened. Clearly the long years you spent in C-Sec have honed your intuition to an unprecedented level of keenness."

Garrus took a step forward, his grip tightening on his rifle. He probably didn't realise he was within James' striking range. Probably didn't realise James knew several ways of disabling a turian in five seconds or less. Probably wouldn't be comforted to know he'd learnt half of those ways during basic training. Those Alliance bigwigs sure were suspicious of their 'allies' on the Council.

"I'm not going to let you do to this crew what you did to the crew of the Farixar." Garrus' eyes were bright, intense enough to shoot lightning bolts. "I lost friends on that ship, and I'm not going to lose friends on this one as well. The second you slip up, I'll be there. And this is the only warning you'll get."

A half-smile tugged at one corner of James' mouth. Three years spent waging a vigilante war and six years in Purgatory had provided him with a certain immunisation to overly dramatic threats. Garrus' attempt was almost laughable; the fact that he was giving _any_ warning at all told James that the turian lacked the callousness required of a natural born killer. If you'd marked a man for death, you didn't warn him of your intentions; it was stupid. A rookie mistake made by a man whose bark was worse than his bite.

True killers gave no warning. No bark. Just the bite.

"Alright," he grinned at the tall turian. "I guess you're the one who'll have to explain to the Council, and my people, and your own people, why you saw fit to kill humanity's first Spectre. I'm sure that'll go down _real_ well with the folks back home. Maybe we'll get another chance at the First Contact War. See who'd come out on top."

The sound of approaching footsteps stalled Garrus' response. Kaidan cleared his throat, and stepped between James and his turian antagonist.

"Garrus. The team's waiting for you at the airlock. We'll be disembarking in just a couple of minutes."

"I was just on my way, lieutenant," Garrus rumbled. He stepped into the elevator, and a few seconds later was gone from view.

Kaidan sighed. "Do you _have_ to antagonise the rest of the team?"

James affected an innocent expression, holding up his unarmed hands to prove his innocence. "Hey, he's the one who jumped me. Sounds like he holds me personally responsible for the breakdown of his entire moral code. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that he was feeling rather disgruntled with C-Sec when Johnny convinced him to join this little adventure?"

"Look, just try to stay out of everybody's way, alright? You're not here to do anything except look like John Shepard. When we're on Noveria, don't speak to anybody unless spoken to. If somebody _does_ speak to you, and there's absolutely no way out of you forming a response, I want you to ask yourself, 'What would John do?' Remember, you're the face of humanity now, as far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned. You're a bastion of efficiency and integrity, and…oh, who am I kidding? Just try not to screw this up, okay? We need a win after our recent losses."

"Relax, Alenko." James gave the guy a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I've got your back on this one. I'm going to be a good boy on Noveria. I'll nod and smile and eat my vegetables and then after dinner I'll get my pudding. You need to lighten up. You're too tense. Tension isn't good for your bowels, you know?"

Kaidan sighed. "Come on. They're waiting for us."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Alenko stopped and gave him such a blank expression that for a moment, James really _could_ believe he'd forgotten this one very important detail.

"My weapon," James prompted. "There wasn't one in in the locker but I know Johnny had one because my brother collected weapons like other men collect stolen bar glasses."

"I have strong reservations about putting a weapon in your hands."

"Alright." James shrugged and slipped into a nonchalant tone. "I'm sure the good people of Noveria won't bat an eye when they see a Spectre running around without a weapon. Maybe we could tell them I'm working on becoming a master of unarmed martial arts. Yeah, that'll work. And if somebody shoots at me I can take off my underpants and wave them in the air like a white flag. That'll throw 'em all off balance."

With obvious reluctance, Alenko opened up a weapon storage locker which probably hadn't been locked with an access code until James was brought on board, and held out an assault rifle. James took it, but Alenko held on for a moment.

"I trust you remember how to use one of these?"

James smiled and wrenched the weapon from his nanny's grip. He popped the safety switch off then on again, and checked the power reading; fully charged.

"Like riding a bike," he said.

"Good. I'm hoping you won't need to use it. Now, if you're ready, we'll need to move fast once we've docked."

Alenko led the way into the lift, and they spent an uncomfortable thirty seconds in silence as it ascended to the ship's upper deck. To amuse himself, James toyed with his rifle's safety catch. It gave his fingers something to do. Something other than holding a cigarette. Caressing its short length. Bringing it to his lips for that first, exquisite drag.

If he didn't get a smoke soon, he was going to kill someone.

The lift stopped and they jogged up the stairs. "Course," James said, "I never did learn to ride a bike as a kid. Still, I'm sure the principle is the same. Hey, before we reach the others, would you mind reminding me which button I press to make the bullets come out?"

Alenko, unfortunately, did not rise to the taunting. James could hear him grinding his teeth though, which was sort of a success. At the airlock, the rest of the ground team was waiting…plus one person James _hadn__'t_ been expecting to see there.

"You're more desperate than I thought if you're bringing Captain Creakybones here along for the ride," he said, indicating Navigator Pressly.

"XO Pressly has an important part to play," Alenko explained. "He's going to keep the chief of security busy whilst we resume the mission your brother was killed undertaking."

"Why don't we just kill the chief of security?"

They all looked at him as if he'd just grown horns and a tail.

"Miss Matsuo is innocent," Garrus said at last. "Several of the guards under her command are working for the Port's corrupt administrator. They're the ones who shot John. It's important we don't rock the boat too much while we're here, so Pressly's going to keep Matsuo talking for as long as possible whilst we re-infiltrate the Synthetic Insights building and search for the evidence we need to—"

"Blah blah blah," James interrupted. He held up his rifle. "Just show me where to point this, and tell me when to pull the trigger. That's all I care about."

"You could start by pointing it at your head," Williams grumbled darkly. James let it pass. This time.

"Touch-down," the pilot, 'Joker', called from the cockpit. James had used his time in his new private bedroom wisely, studying not only his brother's personal logs, but also the entire crew manifest and the technical specs of the ship. Now, he could put a name to every face serving aboard the Normandy, and he received some modicum of pleasure from the fact that the crew would doubtless be less than thrilled if they learnt a criminal knew their backgrounds and histories. "Navigator Pressly, Maeko Matsuo has accepted your request for a meeting and will be awaiting your arrival in the security office. I'll keep an open comm line to you, so I can give the ground team a heads-up about when to disembark."

The tension was once more palpable as Pressly left. James could see it in written on their faces, lurking within their eyes, shown in the way they held themselves and their weapons. Everybody except Wrex, who was probably too old to care, was nervous and with good reason. They'd already screwed this mission up once. They'd tipped off their enemies and let their commanding officer get himself killed. If they screwed up again, they wouldn't get a third try. The Alliance didn't have any more Shepards to pull from its hat.

"All right, ground team," said Joker, "Pressly's just told Matsuo about the ERCS guards on Anoleis' payroll. She doesn't have the authority to arrest Anoleis herself, but she's willing to call off the hounds so that you can search SI's HQ. That way if things go sideways, she can blame it on a Spectre."

"And I thought people came here to get _away_ from politics," Williams said grimly.

"This is it, everyone," said Alenko. "This is our chance to make up for what happened last time we were here. We get in, we get the OSD, and we get out. James, you stay within my sight at all times."

"Sure thing, mom."

They filed out, Alenko up front with James beside him providing a visible Spectre presence. Wrex and Tali'Zorah followed behind, both alert for trouble, with Liara and Garrus lingering a short way back and Williams bringing up the rear. As they passed a window, James caught a glimpse of snow and a flash of purple lightning. Seemed a storm was brewing. How very poignant.

Port Hanshan had been designed by someone who thought large open spaces bisected by angles and decorated with plain old glacier-carved boulders was a beautiful sight. In truth, the opposite effect had been achieved. It was fugly. The bare rock walls were dull and gave off no warmth. The idyllic pools of water surrounding the decorative boulders screamed of boredom and ennui and begged to have life injected into them, to give them some purpose of being. The cavernous Port was too large for the number of people it held; they walked around in twos or threes as if afraid to lose the tenuous connection they held to another living being. Whatever heating system was in place couldn't _quite_ take away the chill in the air.

"God, this place is ugly," he said.

"Luckily we're not here on vacation," said Alenko. "And we're not here for sightseeing, so keep up and try not to look like you haven't seen all this before."

"Whatever you say, boss."

The few people they encountered on the march through the Port's main recreational area quickly moved aside at the sight of a Spectre and his entourage armed to the teeth with enough fire-power to take on a small army. One or two stared open-mouthed at James; these people, he surmised, had heard rumours of a Spectre being shot during a skirmish in their frigid little settlement. A grim smile spread across his face; how many of these people might think twice when watching those lame zombie horror movies now?

At the far end of the Port, Alenko had everyone pile into an elevator. It was an uncomfortable squeeze for most of them, but James found he had a little more room than everyone else. The bonus of having a criminal record; everybody else tried to avoid you in case they caught your criminal tendencies.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. The entire team spilled out, a tidal-wave of raised weapons and biotic power crashing down upon the battered shore. James felt his heart skip a beat as he lifted his rifle, hugging the butt to his chest. Weapons had always been Johnny's great love, but now James finally understood how his brother felt whenever he fired a gun. After six years of being unarmed and defenceless, powerless to stop the frequent beatings and infrequent torture on Purgatory, it felt good to have some of that power back. It felt _damn _good. Almost good enough to stop him thinking about needing a smoke.

Almost.

There was no welcoming party. James' elation began to die away, the adrenaline surge subsiding. He could see the others, just as confused as he. Where were the armed guards? They had to have known the Normandy had come back. Word must have spread that the ground team was on the move. So where was the resistance? Where was the vengeance?

"Maybe this is going to be easier than I thought," Kaidan said. He holstered his pistol and rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, momentarily unable to hide a sheepish expression. "Alright, everyone fan out. Last time we were here, Lorik Qui'in told us that when he realised Anoleis was going to shut him down and turn the place upside down to recover the incriminating evidence, he hid it in one of the planters, buried just beneath the surface of the soil."

"Thank you for that piece of information, lieutenant." A woman appeared at the top of a stairway. She wore the same uniform and armour as the rest of the ERCS guards, but was surrounded by a blue, glowing nimbus. Just great. Another biotic. "My men have been searching this place for days, to no avail. We never thought of looking inside the plant pots. And as for you," she said, narrowing her brown eyes at James, "it was reported to me you were dead. I can see that's a mistake I will have to correct for myself."

She was pretty enough, in a shrew-like way. A shame, James thought, as he grabbed the person closest to him—Tali'Zorah, as it turned out—and pulled her out of the way of an incoming biotic blast, that he would have to kill her.

All thoughts of popping a few rounds in the biotic's head fled his mind as soon as a cadre of guards appeared. James shoved Tali down behind a shipping crate with SI's branding all over it, and turned off his rifle's 'safety' feature. Peering up over the crate, he took aim, steadied his weapon in preparation for the kick-back, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

The room was a war zone of flying bullets and flying bodies; mass effect fields surrounded Alenko, Wrex and Liara, as well as the ERCS guard who was holding her own despite being out-numbered. Williams had taken position behind a supporting wall and was taking her shots whenever she could lean out of cover for a brief burst of fire. Garrus was pinned down inside the elevator, unable to use the sniper rifle he was carrying. And amidst it all, James Shepard was cowering behind a crate with only a quarian for back-up, and with a fucking assault rifle that didn't fucking work.

A guard appeared from nowhere, his face obscured by a mask. The weapon came up, aimed right at James' head and outside his striking space. James stared down the barrel of the gun and saw death looking back at him, a triumphant grin plastered across that skeletal face.

_Click_.

It took three seconds for James to realise his opponent's gun had misfired, and by that point a hand was on his shoulder, pushing him forward. Tali yelled, "Hurry up, my dampening field won't last much longer!"

James liked to think of himself as a man who didn't need telling twice. He launched himself at the turian guard and they went sprawling to the ground. He kicked the gun away and, with all the strength he could muster, brought the heel of his palm upwards, striking the turian's chin with enough force to separate the cervical vertebrae.

Instinct caused him to roll forward just as a hail of bullets hit the ground. Half of them hit the turian, too, which meant he had one less opponent to worry about. Spotting the dead guard's gun, he made a grab for it, but as soon as he picked it up he realised the power core's overload function had been activated – probably remotely. He'd heard there were mods that could do that, though he'd never seen any himself.

He threw the gun at the two guards taking shots at him, uncaring of the bullets that rebounded off his shields. The weapon exploded a few feet short of them. It didn't hurt them, but it dazed them, and gave Tali the opportunity to pop up from behind the crate and finish them off with her shotgun.

Breathing hard, high on his own adrenaline, full of nervous tension, he looked around for another opponent, but found he was too late. The rest of the guards were down. The blonde woman's body was twitching on the floor as the life left it. Garrus had finally made his way out of the elevator, and Williams was holstering her weapon.

"Is everyone okay?" Alenko asked. He approached James, giving him a quick visual check.

The feigned concern was more than James could take. The nervous tension and free-flowing adrenaline had to go _somewhere_, and it went to the place it knew best; anger. He lashed out with his fist, smashing it into Alenko's face. Blood spurted from the man's nose, but James wasn't quick enough to dodge the mass effect field that Alenko threw at him. James was airborne for a couple of seconds, then he hit a nearby wall face-first.

Leaping to his feet, he clenched his fists, wishing he had anything—a gun, a length of wire, a goddamn sodding cigarette—in his hands. "You son of a bitch," he growled. "You gave me a weapon without an ammo block in it. You set me up, you asshole. Sent me into combat like a lamb to the fucking slaughter."

"I was under orders," Kaidan replied, though it wasn't easy to understand him since he was holding his nose to try and stem the flow of blood. It stopped as soon as Williams pressed a medi-gel unit into his suit's gel port. Bitch. "Captain Anderson didn't want you armed. He considered it too great a risk."

"Anderson's a moron, and you're an even bigger moron for obeying him. For Christ's sake, Alenko, use whatever little grey matter God deigned to gift you with on the lamentable day of your birth; why the hell did you think it was a good idea to send me—the man your oh-so-superior superiors just paid millions of credits to release—into combat without a fucking weapon? Am I somehow living in a different reality to the one I woke up in this morning? Did I cross some mystical barrier into a universe where common sense only exists for myself? I'm not a goddamn biotic, you stupid piece of shit. I can't magically wave my hand and create myself a protective barrier, or send my enemies flying across the room like they're goddamn Superman. I'm a soldier; my only defence is a solid offence, and I can't instigate a solid offence if I don't have a fucking weapon that works."

"Why are you even surprised by this?" Kaidan scowled. "You know why you don't get a weapon? It's because you're a killer. You're scum. You murdered the man who was guarding you the night before the trial which would have seen you kicked out of the military for your part in smuggling Sand. You stole an experimental fighter craft and set it on an automated collision course into a populated area before bailing out, so the Alliance would think you were killed in an attempt to escape and be too busy doing damage control to search for you. When you reached the colonies and teamed up with a bunch of guys who were just as evil as you, you concocted an elaborate scheme to pretend to be adrift in space, then murdered the crew of the turian ship that picked you up, and used the vessel to wage a war against the batarians, no doubt slaughtering as many innocents as pirates. Before he left, Captain Anderson told me not to trust you as far as I could biotically throw you. And that's why you don't get a gun."

The silence was deafening. Williams looked at him with an expression of shock and disgust; no doubt this was the first time she'd heard a full recount of the crimes which had landed him in Purgatory. Garrus was still glaring. He seemed to be good at that. Liara was looking everywhere _except_ at James, at a loss how to deal with this new wealth of information. Wrex was wiping some of the blood off his armour onto a pale beige curtain. Tali'Zorah was feigning dogged interest in her shotgun.

"Yeah, well," James countered, "you're a dick. And I'm not taking another step until I'm given a weapon that actually works."

"Here," said Tali'Zorah. She unclipped her pistol and held it out to him. "You can use my sidearm. I prefer my shotgun anyway."

"Great. What am I going to do with this? Tickle my opponents with it?" But he slapped it onto his suit's magnetic strip, holding it until the lock clicked into place. "At least one of you has an ounce of common sense. Now that I'm no longer a sitting duck, why don't you go collect your little piece of evidence so we can continue with whatever bullshit you're involved in, Alenko?"

The group split up, began checking plant pots. Alenko and Williams headed upstairs, whilst Garrus disappeared into one of the back rooms. Liara used a biotic field to topple some of the larger plant pots, sending soil spilling across the beige carpets.

"Um…Shepard?" said Tali, who had hung back. "I just wanted to say thank you. For pulling me out of the way, I mean. I'm not a part of any military, and I know my reflexes aren't as fast as a real soldier's. I hadn't even seen that biotic blast coming towards me, but you not only saw it, you had enough time left to react to it and even pull me to the side. I know a single biotic blast is rarely lethal, but I know it would have hurt…it might even have broken one of the seals on my environmental suit. So…thank you."

"Hmph. Don't thank me. I didn't think. Just reacted."

"Then I'm grateful you reacted the way you did."

"I've found it!" Williams' call was loud, triumphant. She reappeared a moment later with an OSD disc in a plastic case, from which most of the soil had been brushed off.

"Good work, Chief," said Alenko. She smiled at him.

"Yeah, good work," said James. "You get to be on my team in next year's easter egg hunt. So, we just about done here? I'm getting pretty fed up of so much beige, and I really want to deliver the news about the impending cleaning bill."

"Don't you want to get that seen to?" Garrus asked, pointing one of his few fingers at James' cheek. "Or at least have a shot of medi-gel before it scars?"

He lifted his gloved hand and winced at how tender his cheekbone felt. A trickle of warmth told him the skin was broken. Stupid Alenko and his stupid biotic powers. Salia had never thrown him that hard.

"Nah. It's just a scratch. Besides, chicks dig scars. Now, let's go. I don't know about you lot, but I'm just _dying_ to find out what Liandra's mother is doing with a team of asari commandos up at Peak 15."

"You're not in charge here, James," said Alenko. "Try to keep that in mind."

"Of course. Of course." He gave a low bow, removing an imaginary top hat and flourishing an imaginary cloak in the direction of the elevator. "After you, Mr Boss Man."


	6. Ascent

Dark Messiah

_6. Ascent_

James nudged the inert geth body with the toe of his boot. Its head, which had been ripped right off by one of the biotics, lay just a couple of paces away. He lined it up in his sights, swung back his leg and kicked it with all his might. It hit the wall and bounced off, clattering loudly and making Liara jump.

"Hey, look. I just invented geth football. The crims back on Purgatory would have killed for entertainment like this. And I mean literally, half of them would have killed for it."

"Shh, keep your voice down," Williams glared, with a glance for the nearby ERCS guards. Not that she had need to worry; the guards were staring at the geth as if they'd never seen a synthetic life form before, much less engaged one in combat.

James knew how they felt. Though facing off against the geth was old hat to the rest of the team, today's lesson had been a crash course in taking down synthetic enemies. They were sorta like fleshy enemies, except they didn't bleed, or scream, or beg for mercy… unless that high-pitched whistling could be classed as screaming.

"Short range communication," Tali explained, when he asked her why they made that sound. "Ultra-high frequency comm chatter frees up their processors for more efficient networking."

"Alright," said Alenko, as he finished up talking with a hot, yet thoroughly pissed-off-looking, Japanese woman. The rest of the team gathered loosely around. James put a foot on the geth's body and leaned his weight over his knee. Might be a good idea to pretend to be paying attention. "We've got permission to head up to Peak Fifteen. Miss Parasini told me that the Binary Helix crew transmitted a 'Code Omega' right before they went offline. That's probably what brought Benezia here. Basically it's an emergency signal intended to forewarn the Executive Board of an impending disaster. We're on the clock on this one."

"Oh?" said Garrus. "I thought we'd have plenty of time to sort this out, now that Anoleis has been hauled off to a cell."

"Apparently the Executive Board have a right to destroy the facility if an all-clear isn't given by the BH staff. There may or may not be a warhead involved."

Tali'Zorah groaned. "If I'd known we were all going to be vapourised, I would have taken a sick-day."

"It won't come to that," Alenko assured her, in a way that was not particularly reassuring at all. "But we also can't afford to lose any more time. Now, this garage has three Mako-class vehicles free. Taking a shuttle up to the facility is out of the question in this storm, which means we're going to need three drivers. I'll be driver one."

Williams' hand shot up, and James raised his too.

"Alright, Williams," Alenko nodded. "Anyone else care to take the wheel?"

"Ooh, ooh, pick me, sir!" said James, waving his arm. Alenko pointedly ignored him.

"I'll do it," said Garrus. "Commander Shepard gave me lessons during that mission we ran on Edolus. I had a few turns at the controls. I think I can handle it."

"Good. Then Liara, you go with Garrus. Tali and Wrex, with Williams. James, you're with me. Our vehicle will take point, and—"

"Are you sure that's such a good idea, sir?" Williams interrupted. "We don't know what conditions will be like on the road up to Peak Fifteen…and we don't know how many geth will be waiting for us. If you go over the edge, we might never get you back. And, err, Shepard too, of course."

"Thanks, sweetheart," James replied.

"What I'm saying, sir, is that I should go first. I have more experience than Garrus, and I'm more expendable than you and the great asshole."

"Not true, Williams," said Alenko. Ugh. Was he flirting with her? She was as cold as Noveria's atmosphere, and less than half as pleasant to be around. "You're as valuable as anybody on this team."

"But I'm still gonna take point. Er, sir. And just in case I _do_ hit black ice or a geth colossus, I should take point alone."

"No way. You need someone to fire that gun if you run into trouble."

_I bet she__'d like to fire _your_ gun,_ James thought with a barely-concealed smirk.

"I'll go," said Wrex. "I laugh in the face of certain death."

"What about uncertain death?" asked James.

"It makes me queasy."

"Okay," Alenko agreed. "Williams and Wrex take point. James and I are second. Garrus, Liara, Tali, you bring up the rear. We'll maintain a distance of fifty metres, that way if something goes wrong, we'll have wiggle room. Remember, we don't know what to expect up there, so let's take it steady."

"Like two people who've been dating for a year," James nodded sagely. Alenko merely rolled his eyes. That guy had no sense of humour whatsoever.

James followed Alenko into the second vehicle and took a seat at the main gun. His nanny didn't object, which probably meant his usefulness outweighed the risk he posed in this particular situation. Either that, or Alenko's leash-holder hadn't explicitly stated James shouldn't be put behind the main weapon of a land vehicle.

"Don't point that gun at anything other than geth," said Kaidan, as the engine powered up.

"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind, boss. You're obviously a bad influence on me. Tut tut. I wonder what Anderson would say."

There was no response from Alenko.

With little for James to do while Alenko powered up the vehicle and established a communication link with the other two, he set about familiarising himself with the firing controls. The Normandy had a Mako, but as soon as he'd got close to it, Garrus had glared at him. Then Williams had come along and suggested he should leave the area, so he hadn't been able to get a look inside. All in all, the controls didn't seem too different to those of a Grizzly, despite the difference in chassis. Guidance system and missile navigation were pretty standard across the board, though this type of vehicle had a better armament than the old Grizzlies James had driven during his stint in the military. He'd figure it out quick enough.

A couple of minutes later the vehicle was rolling out of the garage. Looking back through the single small reinforced rear window, the last thing James saw was the turian chief mechanic shaking his head as he watched the three Makos disappear from view. Probably thought he'd never see his beloved vehicles again. Maybe he was right.

There was snow. A crapload of snow. James could tell, even with his eyes closed, that Alenko was having trouble keeping the Mako on what was laughably called a road and technically oughta be called a ski run. The whole rig slid along the ground and shuddered when Alenko tried to make it go in a direction it didn't like. James called up the HUD and checked on the other two. Ahead, Williams was doing a decent job of keeping her vehicle straight and steady, but the rear Mako was falling behind, and wobbling all over the mountain pass.

"I'm not sure Mako Three's gonna make it," he said.

The sound of Alenko's teeth grinding was loud enough to hear even over the Mako's complaining engine. "They'll make it."

"You do realise there's a fine line between stubborn confidence and outright delusion, right?"

The onboard computer screamed a warning, and the whole vehicle rocked. James went tumbling out of his seat and was winded by Alenko who was knocked from the driver's chair. James' first thought of criticising Alenko's driving died instantly; he knew what it felt like to be hit by a weapon. Whatever had just struck their vehicle had disrupted the computer. Everything was flashing as the VI tried to reboot itself and regain control.

"What the hell?!" James demanded. He hauled himself back into his chair and tried to get a read on the targeting console, but it was dead. A glance out of the tiny window told him all he needed to know; the blow from the weapon had sent the vehicle reeling. It was sliding backwards, down the path. Right towards Mako Three.

"I'm going to pull the core and do a manual reboot," Alenko said. He'd already pulled the covering panel away from the VI core and had his head halfway inside.

"Better make it quick," James warned. The adrenaline was pumping. Heart racing. This was what he had missed; the thrill of the fight. The spontaneity of battle. The fear of imminent death. Living in hell, on Purgatory, wasn't the same. There, all you had to fear was pain, and James Shepard had long ago made pain his bitch. "Can't do shit if we're blind."

He had to give Alenko his due, the guy could do a fast reboot. It took less than thirty seconds for the VI to come back online. The anti-skid breaks kicked in and the proximity alarm started shrieking _just_ as they hit something hard and came to a dead stop. Once more, James was thrown from his seat, banging his head on the interior access handle. Alenko went sprawling, pelted by the loose panel. For a long moment, all was silent. Then the comm line crackled.

"_What kinda driving do you call that, Alenko? You just hit us."_

"Sorry, Garrus," Alenko replied. He groaned, tossed the VI's covering panel aside, and pulled himself back into the driver's chair with a wince. Probably hurt himself. Good. "What's your situation?"

"_You must've knocked something loose during the impact. We're dead in the water. Tali's working on restoring power but she doesn't have half the tools she'd like."_

"How about you, Williams?" asked Alenko. "You still out there?"

"_Still out here and kicking geth butt,_" she confirmed. Too bad. James was hoping Mako One had gone over the cliff. _"We've just taken out the turrets which hit you, on our way back to assist. Be there in two minutes."_

James took a deep breath and relaxed in his chair. Danger over. Adrenaline subsiding. Annoyance growing. How long had it been since his last smoke? How long could he last without one?

"Damn it!" Kaidan thumped his console with his fist.

"What's wrong now?"

"Check your weapons readouts."

James did, and quickly discovered the source of Alenko's annoyance. "Weapons are offline."

"According to the combat log the VI made just before it went offline, when that geth weapon hit us we were knocked into the cliff face, and it put a massive dent in the cannon shaft. The VI's run a simulation that shows a feedback loop if we try to fire the cannon, so it's taken the whole system offline. We can't even fire the gun."

"_More bad news from us I'm afraid, Alenko,"_ said Garrus. _"Seems the maintenance crew at Port Hanshan hadn't _quite_ finished repairing a previous problem with this Mako when we took it out of the garage. The blow from your vehicle has just put a hole in our belly that was being held together by bits of string. We__'ve got power, but it's not getting to the engine. Tali's guestimating a ten minute fix to patch it up, but the repairs would have to be done from the outside."_

"And I don't suppose she fancies doing that right in the middle of a sub-zero snow storm with geth crawling all over the place."

"_That's correct, lieutenant,"_ came Tali's voice over the comm. _"My environmental suit is designed to withstand extremes of temperature…but nothing this extreme."_

"Then we'll have to turn back. Get Hanshan's crew to fix your engine and our weapons, and catch up with Williams and Wrex later."

"That's quitter-talk," James scoffed.

"Now who's walking the fine line between stubborn confidence and outright delusion?"

There was little venom in Alenko's words. In the Normandy's dim interior, James could see the lines of worry etched across the man's forehead, and felt a momentary pang of pity for him. Sure, Alenko was an uptight Alliance ass, but this situation wasn't his fault. He obviously had combat experience—enough to get him noticed by his superiors and given the task of babysitting a convicted criminal—but he didn't have enough experience of fighting when the chips were down and without the benefit additional backup. He was in over his head, and deep down, he knew it. Fortunately, when the chips were down was when James performed best. He didn't have Johnny's knack for laying careful, long-term plans, but when the shit hit the fan and thinking on the fly meant the difference between life or death…well, at those times, James was in his element.

"Between us, we got a working vehicle," he said. His fingers jumped across the console as he brought up the schematic for the Mako. "Look here."

"It's a tow line."

"Yeah. You see where I'm going with this?"

"I see you're not going very far. It's hard enough to get _one_ Mako up this mountain in these conditions. We'll never be able to pull another vehicle behind us."

"Unless Mako Three uses its eezo core to lower its overall mass and make it easier to pull. That frees us up for driving and them for shooting. Williams goes a hundred metres ahead to take out any geth and we follow with the third vehicle in tow."

"That…is not actually a bad idea." Was that grudging respect he heard in Alenko's voice? Nah. Probably trapped wind. "Did you get all of that, Tali?"

"_One step ahead of you, lieutenant,_" she replied. _"I'm just making a few modifications to enable a sustained field from the eezo core. Normally the core operates in ten second bursts, and I don't want to risk overloading it. That would be…messy."_

"Messy is bad," James agreed. "You should be ready to invert the field on downhill slopes. Increase the mass to ensure the vehicle doesn't run away with you and crash into us. That would be messy, too." He saw Alenko's face, and grinned at the expression. "You look surprised, boss."

"I am. You're actually being useful. Why?"

"'Cos I don't like people who attack our colonies. And because I'd rather not spend any more time than necessary in this tin can with you."

"Good point. Williams, you been monitoring the chatter?"

"Yeah. Sounds like we're back in business."

James could easily picture Williams wearing a massive grin right now.

Tali was a fast worker. In just a few minutes the third Mako's eezo core had lowered its overall mass and the magnetic tow line was attached to the front. Alenko drove the convoy practically nose-to-bumper, to prevent Mako Three overtaking under its own steam, and Mako one went on ahead to scout for trouble.

"It's working," Alenko said. Those worry lines were still there, but they were a lot shallower now. "When this is over, I'll make sure my report mentions your contribution. I'm sure Captain Anderson will be pleased to know your presence on this mission has been beneficial."

"Like I care what that ass thinks." God, this was horrible. Stuck in a Mako with Alenko and nothing to shoot at but Alenko himself. Why did the galaxy hate him so much? "I can tell you right now what Anderson's response will be. He'll tell you that I'm pretending to be helpful to make you lower your guard so I can take you unawares. So save yourself the trouble of reporting that I was of any use because nobody gives a fuck."

"Of course," Alenko continued, giving no sign that he'd even heard James, "my report will also reflect the fact that you punched me. And that you hit like a girl."

"Yeah, well you throw like a girl."

The ship's VI screamed a warning, and Alenko pulled the Mako hard to the left, scraping it along the cliff face. Something exploded just above them, raining down snow and rock fragments, making the whole rig shudder.

"We're under attack!" Alenko shouted down the comm. "Williams, Garrus, do you have the enemy in your sights?"

"_Already on it,"_ said Garrus.

"_We met heavy resistance but were able to punch through,"_ Williams reported. _"There are a couple of geth behind…nothing Garrus can't handle. Our navigation system says the end of the line is just three klicks ahead."_

"We're right behind you. Keep going, and don't stop for anything."

James gripped his seat as the Mako rocked again. From behind he heard the muted sound of return fire. Through the tiny window he saw explosions of orange and red. His fingers twitched, eager to hover over the firing controls even though he knew they wouldn't work. Waiting. He was so good at it…and yet he hated it more than anything. During his campaign in the Traverse, the moments of waiting were filled with banter and camaraderie. Small talk between men like him, men who'd lost everything and seen horrors beyond imagination. Men who didn't have to worry about kissing ass and climbing ranks. And in Purgatory, the moments of waiting, the long, boring moments between beatings and visits to Salia's bed, had been filled with smoking and dreaming. Slowly killing himself and dreaming of happier times. Of might-have-beens, might-one-day-happen, and the occasional never-was.

"We got a steep decline coming up," he said, as the topological map slid across the HUD before his eyes. "Tali, you might wanna increase your Mako's mass field."

"_I see it,_" she replied. _"Increasing mass."_

_Boom boom boom._

The geth fire continued. Alenko evaded whilst Garrus returned fire. The external scanners could just about make out Mako One, half a klick ahead. It was under fire, but Williams seemed to know what she was doing, and Wrex was a decent shot with a cannon, because they caused more damage than they took.

Both vehicles slid down the steep slope. The map changed, indicating another incline. Jesus Christ, why couldn't these people just build a straight road up a damn mountain? Hadn't they heard of bridges?

"_I'm lowering our vehicle's mass effect field again,"_ Tali'Zorah said. _"Switching to…Oh Keelah! The eezo core must have been more damaged than I thought. The field won't lower. We're a dead weight."_

"_Alenko, you're going to have to cut us loose," said Garrus. "You might not make it up that incline, towing us in this condition."_

"I'm not leaving anybody behind," Alenko replied. "Not out here. You'd be dead before help could reach you."

Yep. The fear of imminent death. The brown stuff hitting the fan. The chips being down. This was the stuff that made life worth living. This was the stuff that made it into the flicks. Flicks where James Shepard could play his twin brother for realism and authenticity, and make a fortune in credits. Women would throw themselves at him. Well, more than usual. Credits were always useful, and women were always fun, as long as you didn't let them get too attached.

"I recommend," James said, "that we hit that incline at full speed. Let our momentum carry us up before stepping on the gas. Don't use the brakes. At all. We can't afford to lose speed."

"That's crazy! These roads are too treacherous to be taken at full speed…and that's not even taking the geth into consideration."

"Let Williams handle the geth. Trust me, I used to do crazy shit like this all the time. You want to make it the remaining two clicks without losing anyone or leaving anyone behind to die, you do it my way."

"Alright!" Alenko growled. "I recommend you sit down and strap in because this is going to be a rough ride."

James was already halfway to buckling himself into the chair by the time Alenko had made his recommendation. The ubiquitous whiteness visible from the tiny window became more of a blurry whiteness as Alenko came off the brakes and the vehicle picked up speed. James told himself that the vibrating sensation—which was actually quite pleasurable—was natural. That Makos were supposed to shake a bit when going full pelt up cliff of ice and snow drifts. He could feel death, looming over his shoulder, breathing down his neck…and the bastard had halitosis.

The topology slid by on the HUD. Alenko avoided the worst of the deep drifts and managed to keep the Mako on track. All was going well, pleasant vibrating notwithstanding, until they hit a patch of black ice. Alenko swore. Red lights appeared on the HUD. Warning sirens wailed. The whiteness outside the window was interspersed with blooms of beautiful orange fire. The Mako slid out of control, wheels screeching, chassis groaning, Mako Three behind pushing them forward, forward…James saw the skeletal reaper reach out, one pale bony finger inching towards him, and he heard himself laugh.

There was an impact. Had he not been buckled in, James would have been thrown from his seat. The VI was droning in a monotone that the vehicle's hull was breached, and that the occupants better damn well put on their helmets if they didn't want their lungs to suffer frostbite. James grabbed his helmet and pulled it into place, clipping it down. He quickly checked for broken bones. All was well. And Alenko had survived the impact too. Unfortunately.

The access hatch beckoned. James pushed it open and crawled outside. At first he only saw white, and thought they'd landed in a deep drift. Then he realised his heavy breathing had steamed up his visor. He activated the helmet's decondenser, and found himself standing atop chaos.

Mako Two and Three, both unable to break and skidding wildly across ice, had hit Mako One, which itself had come to a stop against the wall of a building which had the Binary Helix logo painted on it. James reached down and hauled Alenko out of the Mako as everybody else put on their helmets and checked in. No fatalities. Only minor scrapes and bruises. It could have been a lot worse.

"Permission to yell 'yee-haw' at an inordinately loud volume across the comm," he said.

"Denied." Alenko coughed, shook his head, then took stock of the damage. The vehicles definitely weren't going anywhere. "Well, at least we made it to our destination in one piece."

"Speak for yourself, lieutenant," said Liara. Garrus was helping her out of Mako Three. She seemed pretty frail, for an asari.

"I vote we never, ever do that again," said Williams. She and Wrex had already abandoned Mako One, which was smoking underneath. James glared at it with unfeigned envy.

"Is this Peak Fifteen?" asked Garrus. His gaze travelled up. Then further up. The facility had not only been built into the mountain, but also up into the sky. Probably helped communication during snow storms.

"That it is," agreed Alenko. His visor hid his features, but James could still read the tension in his posture. "Is everybody ready to proceed?"

James pulled out the pistol Tali had given him, and deactivated the safety. Yes, he was ready to proceed. He was ready for whatever was waiting in the bowels of the BH headquarters.

* * *

_Author__'s Note: Thanks very much to everybody who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited so far. As you may have noticed, I'm trying to get at least one or two updates done per weekend. Unfortunately, as I have full-time job and a buttload of hobbies, I can guarantee an update every single weekend (also, shit happens) so if you've not hit 'follow' yet you might want to do that, just in case my updates don't come as frequently as I'd initially intended._

_The next couple of chapters will be Peak 15-related stuff, after which we__'ll be wandering back to the Citadel so that James can have a bit of fun. Poor guy deserves some fun…right?_


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